#probably a wonderful cocktail of all of the above

[pearl-kite]

Throwing a tennis ball for the dog in what is essentially perfect weather, wonder where the fuck the sudden and nearly overwhelming melancholy came from

[sageispunk]

What U Need (18+)

Kinktober prompt: exhibitionism (day 3)

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: Teasing Joel underneath a table in a bar sometimes leads to getting ruined on the side of the road.

"Your hands trailed along the zipper of his jeans, fingers teasing his cock over the fabric long enough to make Joel Miller begin to fall apart right in front of you. Right here, in the middle of this bar."

wordcount: 2.5K+

warnings: no Y/N, preestablished relationship, age gap (early 20s + mid-40s), no-outbreak + no sarah, reader’s feeling a bit feral in a bar, joel doesn’t talk much at first, intoxication, teasing, exhibition/public play (no panties in public), over-clothes touching, cursing (obv), degrading language (he calls reader a “dumb fucking slut” at one point), unprotected p-in-v sex (WRAP B4 U TAP), foreplay, angry/horny joel, kinda desperate reader tbh, groping, joel gets a bit rough, the word “daddy” is used several times, dom/sub vibes, praise kink, CREAMPIE, reader has hair that can be gripped/pulled

A/N: follow my sideblog @sageispunklibrary and turn on notifs to be updated when i post!! 🩷

You were on your third– no, fourth cocktail since arriving at the bar with Joel about thirty minutes ago. Your body was so warm that you could feel your dress clinging to your skin from the light moisture. You looked across the table at Joel, who was silently people-watching as he nursed his second glass of whiskey. He looked so sexy tonight, dressed in a black crew neck shirt that was tight enough to show off the outlines of his chest and beefy biceps. He also wore the necklace you recently bought him for his birthday, a simple thin gold chain that you found that same night was nice to look at while he was propped up above you, pounding your pussy into oblivion.

The memory of that night began to play in your mind, making your body heat up even more. Your feet subconsciously moved around under the table as your thighs clenched, one of them bumping into Joel’s, bringing his attention back to you. “Y’okay there, darlin’?”

You looked into his dark chocolate eyes, and responded. “Mhm, just a little warm, is all…”

He could tell there was more but decided to leave it be, to your surprise. You could feel your frustration growing the longer you sat still in your seat. Then his phone vibrated on the table. He picked it up and let out a deep sigh as he began to type out a reply. “Work?” You asked, already knowing the answer. The only other option would’ve been Tommy, and Tommy would’ve just called.

Joel grunted out a ‘yea’ and set the phone back down. The lack of conversation had you feeling needy, not having seen him all day because of work, and even now at 10 o’clock, work was still getting in the way. You watched as he picked up the glass and knocked back the rest of his drink, the way his adam’s apple bobbed as the liquid slid down his throat had your brain feeling fuzzy.

You cleared your throat, deciding to down the rest of the margarita. Joel noticed you were finished too, and slid out of the booth. “Heading over, y’want another?” You nodded, making brief eye contact before your eyes nervously looked elsewhere. He lingered back for half a second, wondering what was making you act so strange, but decided to just head to the counter.

After Joel left, your neediness, horniness, whatever it was–it skyrocketed. Some part of you wanted to get up and drag him into the restroom so he could fuck your brains out in a filthy stall, but you knew he’d probably never go for it. Joel wasn’t a prude, far from it, but public sex wasn’t something the two of you ever got into.

Tonight though, you were feeling frisky and wanted to take some risks. Your booth was tucked away in a darker part of the bar, not many people were near you so you weren’t worried about being caught doing anything lewd. You briefly glanced around to be completely sure no one was watching, before slyly bringing your hands under the table, sliding your damp lace thong down your soft legs. Once you had the small fabric bunched up in your hands, you had to bite your bottom lip to keep a poker face. Excitement rushed through your system–paired with the alcohol, you were beginning to feel invincible.

A few moments later, Joel came back, both of your drinks in hand. As he slid back into the booth, he noticed the flustered look on your face and cocked his eyebrow a little. “Here ya go, baby.” His eyes were trained on your face as he handed it to you, the look in his eye a bit dark, calculating.

It turned you on, having no panties on in public, but even more that Joel didn’t know yet. However, you didn’t think this far ahead and you really wanted him to know as soon as possible, just to see what he might do. “Thank you, Joel..” You made doe eyes at him, taking in the way he shifted in his seat, obviously beginning to feel the effects of the brown liquor. “I missed you today, I feel like I don’t get to see you much because you’ve been working so much,” There was a slight pout in your voice, and it drew him in.

“Oh baby, I’m sorry,” His deep Texan accent paired with the petname sent a shiver down your spine, all the way to your lower belly. He leaned into the table more, face coming in closer and you could see the way his gaze kept moving back and forth between your eyes and your lips. “How can I make it up to ya?”

You mirrored his actions, leaning in on your left elbow with the side of your face in your palm, leaving only a few inches between both your faces. “Mm, I dunno, let me think..” You took this as your opportunity to sneakily find his hands under the table with your right hand, transferring the fabric to his hold. You innocently smiled at the confusion on his face while he pulled back to look at what you gave him.

“Wait don’t–” You chuckled as he almost brought the panties back over the table. Joel narrowed his eyes at you, trying to figure out what the hell you were trying to pull on him. Your eyes focused on his face, enjoying each expression on his face as he realized what he was holding.

He whispered your name, in a shocked but slightly dark tone, watching as you sat back in your seat with a big grin on your face. “What the hell do y’think you’re doin?!” He kept his voice down but the harshness remained. You could feel your seat getting wetter, your slick dripping down your thighs onto the faux leather.

With a shrug and another sip of your drink, you responded. “Just wanted to show you how much I’ve been missing you, is all.”

He was more taken aback than you expected. “By takin’ your panties off in the middle of a bar, like a fuckin’ slut??”

You leaned back in, faux innocence dripping from your lips. “I’m sorry daddy, do you not like it?” As soon as that word left your mouth, Joel’s eyes got darker, almost black. You had him. Your right hand snuck back under the table, finding its way to his crotch, where lo-and-behold sat a warm, throbbing, rock-hard cock in a tight pair of jeans. “If you don’t like it, I can put them back on. Might get caught though…” You slowly moved your hand up and down his bulge, finding pleasure in the way he struggled to keep his eyes open and stern.

“Seems you like it when I act like a slut, based on how hard your cock is for me right now.” You gave a gentle squeeze and smiled when he groaned, eyes fluttering shut and mumbling quietly. “Jesus Christ.”

Your hands trailed along the zipper of his jeans, fingers teasing his cock over the fabric long enough to make Joel Miller begin to fall apart right in front of you. Right here, in the middle of this bar.

“Alright, that’s enough.” He snapped out of it, eyes coming back up to meet yours with nothing but need in them. “Get the fuck up. Now.” You removed your hand, a bit thrown at the harshness of his voice but ultimately turned on and ready to do anything he asked of you. He threw back the rest of his whiskey and pulled out his wallet, as you sipped the remnants of your drink.

Joel threw down a wad of cash on the table before looking at you with a look that said “don’t make me repeat myself.” You stood, careful to keep your way-too-short dress below your ass, a gasp leaving your mouth at the wetness you left behind on the leather. As you took a napkin to wipe it up, Joel quickly stood up and roughly grabbed your arm to pull you in front of him, an effort to hide his huge boner from the other patrons. “Come on, sweetheart.” He gritted in your ear, letting you sort of guide him out the bar and to his truck.

For the past five minutes, Joel had been yelling your ear off. He was mad, mad that you would pull that shit in his favorite bar. Where everyone there knows him and his quiet but handy reputation. He was mad that you would risk fucking that all up ‘just for some dick.’

Like he doesn’t know the hold his dick has on you.

Anyways he shouted at you, driving about 15 over on the same dark road the two of you took to go home everyday. It didn’t bother you, really. You knew there was a chance he’d be pissed off, you were prepared. What was bothering you was the fact that you still hadn’t cum. You thought maybe he’d be mad and you would have the best angry sex of your life, right in the truck outside the bar, but nope.

“Are you even fuckin’ listening t’me?” His voice cut through your thoughts again, and you looked over, not even having to answer because he could read the look on your face. “Of course not, all you care about is your fuckin’ pussy. You probably can’t comprehend a goddamn thing I’m saying right now, can ya? Dumb fucking slut.”

The words he spit out at you had an unreal effect on you. The degradation had you sopping wet, surely soaking his seat. You tried not to squirm too much but you were in desperate need of some friction, you needed something or someone to touch you. Taking a deep sigh, you chose to not respond to him, focusing more on ways to achieve an orgasm without touch. Your thighs trembled slightly as they squeezed together, giving your clit a little extra stimulation. A breathy moan escaped your throat, catching Joel’s attention once again.

He didn’t comment this time, just glanced over at you with a look you couldn’t place. You saw him shake his head from your peripheral, but you paid him no mind, continuing your squeezing and looking out the dark window. Suddenly, the truck was pulling off onto some dark backroad that you’ve never gone on. Joel parked off on the side and cut the car off.

“What–” He cut you off. “Get out.”

You unbuckled, a bit confused but following orders nonetheless. Once you were out of the vehicle, you walked around the back where he stood. “Joel, what are we–” He grabbed you by your hair, pulling your face close to his, so that you could see him better.

“Since you can’t control yourself, we’re just gonna have to do this here.” His lips were so close to yours, you wanted so badly to move closer to feel them on your own, but his grip on you was tight. He tilted your head back with the fist in your hair, exposing your throat to him, other hand placed firmly on your jaw. When you felt his hot, wet tongue lick a stripe along your neck, you thought you would combust.

“Joooeellll…” You cried out, almost overstimulated by the way he was licking and sucking on your favorite spots. He groaned into your skin, the sound sending a pang to your lower stomach. God, he needs you as much as you need him.

You brought one hand down to his cock–still hard as a rock in his jeans–groping and squeezing the bulge, pulling more deep groans out of him. He took a break from his conquest on your neck and chest, turning you around to face the tailgate of his truck. “Fuck, darlin’...you’ve been wanting this all night, huh?”

You shook your head. “All day, daddy.”

“Say it again.” He ground into your ass with his cock, and you pushed back, wishing he would just take them off.

“I’ve been thinking about you fucking me all day, daddy. I want your cock so bad, I need it in me please, just fuck me please…” You rambled, desperately needing him to ruin you.

You heard his zipper open, then the shuffle of his jeans down his legs, and you felt as though you’d been lost in the desert for weeks and finally, you’ve come across a cold spring of water. “One more time for me, baby.”

“Please fuck me daddy.” You cried out, not caring if anyone could hear you, even though it was unlikely in this rural area. As soon as the last word left your mouth, Joel pushed you forward slightly, causing your dress to finally roll up to your waist, and slid right inside of you, the both of you groaning in unison. He pulled back out slowly, drawing a long wail of his name out of your throat, before he quickly thrusted back inside of your warmth. His long, thick cock stretched you out and filled you up to the brim, reaching your favorite spot with each thrust. “Fuck, baby, goddamn this pussy is so fucking wet f’me…” Joel groaned praise into your ear, one hand still in your hair and the other now gripping your hip.

You used the little energy you had left to meet his rhythm, throwing your ass back to him, occasionally receiving a hard slap or two. “Joellll, baby, fuck!” Those three words made up your only vocabulary for a couple minutes, until he got you right there, at the edge.

“I’m so close, daddy.”

“I know baby, I can feel it, let go f’me okay. Cum for me sweetheart, you got it.” The degradation from only a few moments ago paired with the sweet things he was now panting in your ear had you about to explode. One of your hands gripped onto the tailgate and the other went straight to your clit, rubbing as fast as you could.

All you could hear was your own breathy moans, paired with Joel’s deep groans and the sloppy, gushing, wet unity of your two bodies.

Your entire body tightened up as you tipped over the edge, finally getting that release that you’ve needed all day. You screamed out in total bliss, your eyesight leaving you for a few moments. Right behind you, Joel let out a longggg groan, crying out to you. “Fuck, baby I’m cumming.”

“Cum for me, daddy, fuckkkk..” You felt him pulsing inside you, filling you up until it was leaking out around his cock. His hips slowed and stuttered, eventually slowing way down, his upper body resting on your back. “Jesus Christ,” Joel panted, leaving a couple kisses on your back.

You chuckled, all of a sudden feeling very, very tired and blissed out. Joel left one last kiss on the back of your neck before slowly pulling out, trying not to overstimulate you, with his cum spilling right after. “Oh, fuck,” you shivered.

You turned around and threw your arms over his shoulders as he pulled his jeans back up, sloppily pulling him in for a kiss, needing to feel his soft lips on yours. He obliged you for a few moments, before pulling back and grabbing something out of his back pocket.

Your panties.

“C’mon baby, let’s put these back on and head home.”

AAAAAAH finally published, i know it's past midnight now its a little late (not if we count the west coast tho hehe). but my second post (and my first joel fic)!! so excited to share this with you guys, i rlly hope u enjoy it!! please like and reblog (and leave plenty of comments) if u do. feel free to send requests/suggestions!! <333

i do not give permission for anyone to copy, translate, or repost any of my works. 18+ ONLY -- i am not responsible for the content you consume.

[mangowafflesss]

Ghostly Love | Ghost x Ghost!Reader

Summary: You’re a ghost that haunts the base and accidentally falls in love with Ghost.

Word Count: 4K+

★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★☠︎︎★

Death is a funny thing, one day you’re alive and the next well… you’re not. You died miles and miles away from here but somehow you were tied to this place. You were hoping to be living your afterlife under palm trees, somewhere hot and sunny unlimited cocktails lying by the pool. 

Sadly even when you die you still don’t have freedom. Which fucking sucks. 

You roam the hallways of a military base, out of all places why here? It annoyed you at first but then you came round to the idea of scaring and possibly triggering these worn out soldiers. It was wrong, oh so very wrong for making someone scared when they’ve seen the depths of hell, but so have you in some way. 

There wasn’t a pearly gate waiting for you or some hot sunken dungeon, just pure nothingness until you ‘woke’ up here. 

Stalking the corridors was one of your favourite activities, you could trip over as many people as you could and they would think it’s their clumsy footing, idiots. You have a specific corridor you do it in and they always blame it’s uneven flooring due to everyone tripping there, but no it’s just you and your bored out mind. 

People always suspect there’s ghosts that roam this base but when you realised they weren’t talking about you, it was sort of intriguing to hear. 

Ghost. Who is he? What does he look like? And why have you not met him yet? 

From what you gathered he’s a scary tall guy who wears a mask and oh,  everyone is scared of him. It wasn’t uncommon to overhear someone’s juicy gossip about who’s scared of who and who’s fucking who. You’ve lost count how many times you’ve walked through a wall and someone’s pegging someone. 

Ghost was interesting though, you needed someone new to suck the energy out of and maybe he’ll be your new person to torment. 

It wasn’t until three days later at specifically three in the morning you bumped into him, well bumped is a strong word. He walked through your body and strode down your tripping hallway. Quickly chasing after him he turned around as he felt someone behind him, you continued to get ahead of him and jut out your foot. 

He was coming your way and you concentrated on making a physical connection to do so. You watch in amusement as he trips and curses under his breath, it’ll never get old no matter how many times you do it. Hell, you’re here forever so might as well be entertained by it. 

You continued to stalk after him, wondering what he’s doing up at this time and where he came from. You’ve been watching security cameras for most of the day chilling in the security room which to you is probably the worst smelling room. 

Weird how ghosts can smell. Something you hate when you get an armpit to the face on the odd occasion. 

The doors to the outside open and he gives a nod to one of the guards out there and pulls out a cigarette, oh how you miss smoking. Maybe it’s what led to your death but who knows and who cares, right? 

He pulls the mask up above his nose and you stare at him in awe, he is really pretty, scars littered his pale freckled face and you reached out a hand to trace them, he blew out the smoke and wiggled his nose muttering something about the cold. Another downside of being dead, you’re always cold just like a corpse. 

As you observed him you knew he was going to be different from the others you’ve observed, you started to smile as your heart started to swell, it’s weird how you still feel everything. Emotions, your heart? You’d think it would be as if you’re just empty but no, you’re still you. Unfortunately. 

“What are you doing?” You nearly jump out of your skin and then sneer at the man next to you who is also watching Ghost with a curious expression. “Why are you here? Come to torment me again” you really hated this guy with your whole entire being. 

“I came to visit of course!” He hits you on the back and you really wished ghosts could touch one another but unfortunately for you they can.”why? So you can rub it in you can leave again” you say pushing him and remaining where you stand. 

“Oh come onnn have you even tried again?” You give him a look and he puts his hand up in surrender, of course you’ve tried. It’s a part of your daily routine at this point but you’re in some sort of barrier trapped around this forsaken place. Frowning you see the butt of the cigarette fall to the floor and it is stamped out with a boot, just like your hope. 

“Okay okay I’m sick of seeing you this way so I asked around for you” 

“About?” 

“About you leaving here and travelling anywhere you want! Just like me” his arm was wrapped around your shoulder and he pointed to the sky to say that’s where your answers lie. 

“Yeah right and how do I do that? Spin around in front of a mirror three times” you laugh and push his arm off you and walk away to try and find where your new obsession friend has gone. 

“You need to form a connection with a human, people usually do it with their family because well they’re usually trapped in the homes of them so pick someone here and bond” 

“And how am I going to do that?” The idea was ridiculous, there’s no way you’re going to be able to manage that “dunno kid, you'll figure it out though. I've got to go, good luck” and with that he walks away and disappears into the night air. 

“Form a connection? Fucking unbelieveale” you grumble and continue your walk around the base for the thousandth time. 

The next day you found Ghost in the shooting range, it was entertaining watching people shoot guns and he seemed to be very good at it. “Damn LT. didn't know you were back” you heard a whistle and a man you've seen plenty of times before come through the door. 

Soap Mactavish is a man you've played pranks on before, his happy go lucky nature is often fun to mess with. Seeing him spooked out and cling to the nearest thing makes the deepest of sounds erupt from your body. 

You stood in the corner watching until Ghost looked in your direction which made you freeze, can he see you? Does he possess the ability to see ghosts? You really hoped not… 

His eyes rip away from you and over to the rack next to you. He was probably just looking at the guns not you, that would be silly, 

“Seems different from last time I was here” his voice was gravelly and you kind of liked it, a sense of authority lurked in there. 

“Aye, I think theres ghosts personally”

“Ghosts? Fuck off Johnny” 

“What?! I'm being serious, ask anyone here they'll tell you about the paranormal” 

Their conversation seemed to end there and you decided to stand next to them, if you were still alive you'd be intimidated by the size of their muscles. Reaching out to see how big Soap's arm is compared to your hand he flinches and shivers. 

You retreat yourself from him as you know your presence causes a temperature change to the atmosphere, just like when you touched Ghosts face last night. Sighing, you lay on the ground, you were never going to get out of here even if you tried. 

“You need to form a connection with a human”

“Shut up!” you were so angry at what he told you, not only does he pop in now and again to piss you off and brag about how he went to a different country. It seemed so easy to just go into a mirror and travel but no you’re spat back out like a talent show reject. “Why does this shit always happen to me” you groan to absolutely no one, you were alone here and most probably will be until this place is demolished. 

Sulking on the floor you get a boot to the chest and look up to see Ghost standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. He was shouting something to someone and you sat up, your head was next to his leg and you saw a couple of guys fighting each other while being pulled away by Soap and another man. 

As you are about to get up off the floor you look down and an idea pops into your head. Smiling to yourself you tie the man's shoelaces together and stand up before laughing in his face. “There can only be one ghost here” you say and walk away to terrorise the communication officers. You were on a schedule after all. 

When you walk down the hall you hear a faint “Johnny!” and snicker while tripping someone over and flickering the lights. 

A couple of days later you were doing your nightly run of the corridors trying to find someone to annoy until you remembered Ghost. Walking through each room you breeze past many sleeping soldiers or other things you wish to erase from your mind before finding Ghost. 

He was sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, his back looked so big from behind, large shoulders and thick muscles poked through his shirt. Creeping over you see his elbows resting on his thick thighs while something drips from his face. 

The closer you got you could see the tracks of tears on his cheeks and immediately felt as if you should leave. But you don't, instead you sit on the ground in front of him with your legs crossed with a sympathetic look on your face. You wanted to reach out and comfort him but you couldn’t and sighed heavily. 

He sobbed silently into his hands and you just watched. It was the only thing you could do at the moment. You wondered what horrors he's seen in his lifetime, probably way more than what you have that's for sure.  

He leaned back and ran his hands down his face effectively wiping away the tears and opened his eyes. You watch as he looks at a piece of paper in his hand and you stand up from your spot on the floor. Moving to his side you sit down next to him and see the image of a little boy smiling as he lifts him into the air, the little boy is clinging to a football and it looks as if they’re in someone's back garden. 

He looks at the photo with a solemn expression and sighs heavily. “I hope you’re having a good birthday up there Joe” he whispers before giving the photo a kiss and sliding it inside of a book that's on his pillow.   

You purse your lips in thought and come to the conclusion that this Joe was dead. You wonder if you would ever be able to find him… a thought for another day. 

You placed a comforting hand on his back knowing he wouldn’t feel it unless you focused really hard on doing so. His breathing relaxed and soon enough he leaned back on his bed, his head laying softly against the pillow as he stared at the ceiling. 

You decided to retreat out of the room by walking backwards, you never really have to pay attention anymore until you actually bumped into something and alerted the awake man. “Shit, don't see me please don’t see me” you whisper while freezing on the spot, he doesn’t get up and instead lays back down mumbling something under his breath you couldn’t hear. Turning around you exit his room and leave him alone for the night. 

A couple of nights later you found him still awake in his room sewing a hole up in his mask, you watched him carefully until he pricked his fingers over and over again. “Fucking hell this stupid mask” he grunts while throwing it onto the ground, he leaves the room with a different mask that covers half of his face and for some reason you bend down and pick the mask up off the floor. 

Focusing on the task at hand you sew up the hole to the best of your abilities and when you’re done you manage to suck all of the energy out of the light bulb in his lamp. “Oops… oh well” you smile at your work but the mask slips through your hands and you frown “I guess that's all I can do for one night” the door opens and you jump to your feet to see the tall buff man walk back into his room. He unzips his jacket and a box of cigarettes falls out of his pocket but he just leaves them there and instead picks up his mask. He sees the thread has moved and narrows his eyes and checks his mask. When he sees the hole now sewn he looks around his room before putting it back where he keeps it and doesn’t question it. 

“You're welcome I guess” you say sarcastically and see the man's shoulders tense, he turns slowly and soon enough a knife is thrown in your direction which makes you duck. “What the fuck?!” is what you say when you return back to your normal standing position, the knife is sticking out of the wall and you look from that back to the man who is closing in on you. 

He reaches a hand out for your neck but his hand goes straight through and he looks even more confused. He throws punches in your direction but they all end up with his shadow boxing which makes you laugh.

“Please stop or you'll end up punching the wall” you say but you’re also shocked you even care about his well being. Weird. 

“You need to leave” 

“I don't think so. You see I'm a ghost and I technically can’t so I think I’ll do what I want” you give him a sickly sweet smile and he looks you up and down from head to toe and takes a step back. 

“A ghost?” he chuckles while licking his lips “you're not a ghost, i've seen plenty of those” 

“Believe it or not but I am, I mean who do you think tied your shoelaces together the other day” you laugh and he comes storming back over to you “That was you?!” 

“The one and only” you take a bow and slowly realise this is probably the first conversation with someone alive in a long time. “But don't worry, i'll get out of your hair but i'll be back… whenever” with that you disappear through the wall no doubt leaving him confused. 

You came back into his vision while he was smoking outside again, it wasn’t an unusual thing he did and when he saw you he visibly got annoyed and blew out the smoke harshly. 

“Hey friend, fancy seeing you here” you elbow him and he moves away from you with a snarl. “Oh come on, can't we at least be friends, I need someone to tell all the gossip to!” you say swinging your arms up in the air. 

“Gossip?” he raises an eyebrow and you begin to grin “Yes! You’re friends with that MacTavish guy right?” he scoffs before nodding reluctantly. 

“Well he’s been fucking that blonde nurse Cassie for months and last night he called her Marrissa which is the other nurse he had a thing with a couple nights ago. And that's why he rocked up this morning with a black eye” you say nonchalantly while looking at the scenery around you which isn't much. 

“That's why he was acting like a bitch all day, fucker deserves it” he laughs and you feel yourself feel lighter at the feeling. “Want me to tell you about the captain too?” he looks at you and then shrugs his shoulders. “If you want to” you smile brighter than a light and walk around the gravel in front of him telling him all the juicy details you could remember. 

This happened on repeat, you meeting him outside at the dead of night while he smoked. You told him all of the secrets that are hidden in these walls while he listens and inputs any of his opinions into it.

Over time you realised you had feelings for him. It came out of nowhere, one day you were looking for him and remembered he left for a mission, you felt so lonely without him but it could just be the fact you got so used to his company. 

“What's with the sad face chica?” 

You look to your side and see the annoying face you wish you could burn. “What are you doing here again, it's a bit early don’t you think?” 

“For your information it's been three months since I last saw you” 

Three months? There is no way it's been this long and you didn’t know. 

“Sooo how's that human? You were ogling the last time I was here” 

“I wasn’t ogling him but if you must know we’re actually good friends” 

“That’s great! He can help you get out of here” he says, clapping you on the back with joy but you didn’t feel like leaving at this moment in time. 

The door to the outside opens and Ghost walks through the doors. You perk up and smile softly, maybe his mission ended quickly. You watch him lean against the brick wall as he usually does and pull out a cig from his pack. His mask lifts and his pale skin is shown under the moonlight. 

“Have fun with your friend” you watch the ghost whose name you still don’t know walk away and then turn your attention back to Simon. 

He had told you his name one night while you practically begged for it. You had tried to threaten him and say you’d never speak to him again but all he said was “I’ll finally have some peace and quiet” 

Appearing to Simon he moves his eyes over to where you’re sitting on the small wall and nods to you. 

“You're late, that’s unlike you” he says and you shrug your shoulders. 

“Aren’t I always late, you know, because I’m dead?” He looks you in the eyes and smirks “Was that supposed to be a joke?” Shrugging your shoulders again you look away and look at the gates in the distance. 

There was a moment of silence before Simons spoke up through the quiet night. “You’re not being annoying, what’s up with you?” 

“Nothing” 

“Bullshit. C’mon I thought we were supposed to be ‘friends’” he jokes and you hum while playing with your fingers. 

“If I asked you to help me with something would you?” 

He looked into the dark sky thinking for a moment before looking back at you “like what?” 

“Help me leave here. I mean don’t get me wrong it’s nice to be surrounded by so many attractive people but-” 

“You don’t have to explain yourself, I wouldn’t want to be stuck here either. I’ve spent most of my life in this lifestyle wouldn’t want to die and be trapped in this shithole forever” 

“I guess not…” 

“Is there something else bothering you” 

“What happened to the Simon who hated me talking” you huff while watching the cigarette smoke spiral in the air. 

There was a long stretch of silence before you stood and walked to him. “I guess I’ll miss you. That’s all” 

“Really” he bluntly says and you just roll your eyes. “Wow at least say you’ll miss me back asshole” you say punching him in the arm.“Why? I know you’ll come back, you'll have a lot of gossip to catch up on” the comforting smell of the smoke makes you feel as if he's being sincere right now. He'll totally miss you. 

“So, how am I supposed to help?”  

“You'll actually help me?” 

He gives you a nod and then you take an unnecessary deep breath. “Okay, let's do this!” you pump yourself up and shake your limbs. 

Turning out your hands you put them in front of you with your palms facing upwards, “grab onto my hands” you prompt before his larger ones cover yours. Intertwining your fingers he gives you a curious glance before you whisper words under your breath. “Repeat what I just said okay?” you say and he follows your instructions. 

You feel a shiver run up your spine and a tingly feeling flowing through your arms to where your hands are connected with Simons. Letting go, you tell him to follow you to a bathroom. He doesn't question it and simply follows. 

Standing in front of a mirror you place your hand onto the smooth surface and push through, you've never actually gone through before so you were slightly nervous. Retreating your hand you look at Simon in the reflection and give him a shy smile “I’m scared” is all you say and he pulls his mask up and gives you a warm encouraging smile “Don’t be, go on, go through and be free” 

Turning back to the mirror you enter it completely and the feeling was incredible, you were finally free. Poking your body out of the mirror you press a kiss to his now masked cheek “Thank you. I'll come visit soon!” you say excitedly and leave him alone in front of the bathroom mirror. 

1 Month Later

Simon hadn’t seen you in a whole entire month. He didn't want to admit that he missed your stupid face or your company but he often wished every night when he took a step outside to have a smoke that you would appear with that annoying smile. 

Looking up at the moon he blows out the smoke into the cold night air and shivers due to the extreme temperature drop. It was the middle of winter now and wondered if you were having fun, wherever you were. 

“Hello stranger” 

Whipping his head to the side he sees you standing there with your usual smile on your face. “Your back. Thought you'd be back sooner” this makes you laugh while walking closer to him, “Don't act like you didn't miss me” 

“I bought a couple of people with me, if you don’t mind” he looks at you confused and then you bit your lip as two other figures appear from behind you. 

“Tommy? Joseph?” he says, astonished as to what he's seeing. Removing his mask he sees his nephew and brother standing before him. You stayed behind them not wanting to disrupt their little reunion. 

“Uncle Si!” the boy wraps his arms around Simon's legs and he bends down to greet him “How are you bud?” he looks at the features of him and he's exactly how he remembered him. 

Tommy turns to you and gives you a smile “Thank you for helping us find him” you wave a hand in the air and shrug “No problem. I haven’t known him long but I could tell he needed this. I'm just glad I could find you if I’m honest- it's a very big world” Tommy laughs at this and you look back to where Simon currently is. 

He looks at you and mouths a ‘thank you’ which you just nod at. Putting your hand on Tommy’s arm to gain his attention he looks at you again. “Have a good time with your brother, I’m glad I got to meet you” 

You leave in the mist of the night and feel happy about what you did tonight. You'll be back soon enough for the gossip and probably a lecture about doing something like this for him, but you didn’t care. You'd do anything for Simon and wish him a good rest of his life.  

THE END.

[sgiandubh]

OMG! I can practically see her pulling at her pearls in indignation and fury! I wonder how many wet dreams he rejected her to result in this anger 🙃🙄😜 https://www.tumblr.com/maximumwobblerbanditdonut/747779411400671232/public-intoxication-sh-was-invited-to-the-landcon?source=share

Dear Pearl Clutching Anon,

This woman is the worst mythomaniac and the most pathetic know-it-all of the entire fandom. Mark me: probably a sock account of one of the Mordor sopranos, who'd like to play it cool otherwise. She is an impostor, pretending to be a Scot. But her grammar and spelling recurrent mistakes point to anything else but an English native speaker.

Prized and praised as she is by the dim-witted, she is living proof of the fact that you cannot reasonably and endlessly pretend to be an expert in hair implants, cocktails/bartending, audiovisual production, copyright, alcohol sales and pretty much everything in between. To me, she is at her most pathetic when she pretends to analyze the legal intricacies of the French regulations applicable to public alcohol tasting events.

What happened, in fact, at the Landcon 6 whisky tasting?

Ok. So, this was announced by the French organizers on March 5th and presented as a limited audience event, priced at 350 euros.

This idiot's comment is absolutely priceless:

She would be surprised to find out that, unlike the US, there has never been any Prohibition decreed in France (Hell would have frozen). Even more interestingly, the only venues where French law specifically prohibits alcohol tastings and sales are enumerated very clearly in regulations far above her intellectual abilities:

The main idea is that you cannot sell/organize alcohol tastings in public health venues (hospitals, clinics, etc), rehabilitation clinics (d'oh!) - both for alcohol and drug addictions -, schools, youth summer camps, sports arenas, swimming pools or any other public or private sports venues.

(Source: French Public Health Code, https://www.dalloz.fr/documentation/Document?id=CODE_CSPU_ARTI_D3335-1&scrll=CSPU022225&FromId=CODES_SECS_CSPU_TALPHA)

To these limitations, the French national professional organizations add, as best practice, the following: churches, cemeteries, prisons, military barracks, railway/public transport facilities (including depots).

(Source: Vin & Société's Guide juridique de la dégustation/Tasting Legal Guide - https://www.syndicat-cotesdurhone.com/upload/article/file/202103guidejuridiquedeladegustation-60658bb9468b4.pdf)

To my knowledge, Landcon's venue was neither a cemetery, nor a church (the latter could be, however discussed: wee & lame joke, btw). And for that poor woman's information, you would not need an exemption, but a permit, or licence. In current French law, there are four such sale permits, ranked from I (soft drinks, such as Orangina) to IV (all drinks, including spirits). The fabled Licence IV (also the name of a beloved 90s French kitschy music group, LOL) is now impossible to obtain and if you want to have one, you have to buy the venue (cafe, nightclub, bar, bistro, restaurant or buvette) that had it issued first, many moons ago.

That problem solved, we would have to further analyze the type of event hosted by the Landcon. Was it a tasting or a sale, according to French regulations?

If it was a tasting, no licence is needed. If it was a sale, you might need a temporary licence, granted by the Mayor, provided you have notified them at least 3 months before the event. These are also famously hard to get and very sparingly granted, too.

Because tastings are an exception, they are strictly defined by French regulations as 'free alcohol consumption' and their regulations are excruciatingly detailed. Procedures and limitations vary according to the type of event: sports, tourism promotion, markets and fairs, public gatherings or cultural events (which is the one that seemed the closest to our situation). But a cultural event-cum-tasting would have to be completely free of charge (no paying access tickets), in order to be exempt from any legal obligation. This was not the case, as we know there was a rather steep, 350 euros fee, to be able to attend it:

(Source: Vin & Société's Guide juridique de la dégustation/Tasting Legal Guide - https://www.syndicat-cotesdurhone.com/upload/article/file/202103guidejuridiquedeladegustation-60658bb9468b4.pdf)

That new activity was certainly not a tasting, as defined by French law. An amateur could then conclude, that S's event was, in fact, a disguised sale and that he is either a sinister fool or a filthy conman.

The trouble is, French legislation tolerates one single, overruling exception to everything I wrote above: sale by the producer of said alcohol. It is to be found (or rather interpreted - and it has been so by myself AND the French professional organizations), in the Code Général des Impôts/ French Tax Code:

To avoid a tedious legal translation, the idea is that if you do not sell your own produced booze, you are automatically considered as a stockist/trader and as such, subject to alcohol sales' regulations. If the Landcon organizers would have sold/promoted Laphroaig, for example, they would have needed the permit. But hosting a paying tasting event organized by SRH, promoting SRH's whisky and which profits entirely belonged to SRH is a sale by the producer, as defined by French law, not needing a permit:

(Source: Vin & Société's Guide juridique de la vente/Sales Legal Guide - https://fgvb.fr/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/Vin-et-Societe-Guide-juridique-de-la-vente-19042021.pdf)

So: even if the tasting event was, in fact, a sale, French law allows a producer to sell his own alcohol, for promotion purposes as a side event, with no further need to obtain a permit. And this is exactly what their legal team rightfully advised them to do and completely what I would advised them to do, too.

That woman is so often and in so many ways completely wrong, that she is absolutely ridiculous. She (and also her other Big Friend) should perhaps stop pretending to be whatever they are not. Infantilizing, bullying and snarling at people does not help with their credibility.

Such women are genuine Frauds and absolutely despicable. People spend years fucking their eyesight in law school and we do not joke about interpreting and reading legalese. Ever. But to see idiots pretending to know just because they fucking used Google for ten minutes is just infuriating: it took me two hours to find the exception and another two to write this comment.

I hope this long, tedious answer was helpful, Anon.

[capslocked]

VANITY

male reader x kim chaewon

5k words

"Quarter to six?"

"Quarter to six."

"Quarter to six?" you ask one more time checking your watch, praying for a different answer.

She repeats herself with stern punctuation, "Quarter to six."

You hazard the obvious question, "I thought you said check-in was at seven?"

"I also said we’re meeting everyone for drinks at a quarter to six. You should listen to me more often."

"Well. Shit." You swing yourself about the door frame of the bathroom, your dress socks on the wood floor like skates on an ice rink. "Then we probably need to get ourselves—"

Your eyes immediately find Chaewon’s reflection in the mirror, astonishing, mesmerizing, confounding.

"Whoa." You have no idea if the word actually spills out of your mouth or the airy sound it makes is audible only in your thoughts.

A shy smile dimples her cheeks, pretending it doesn’t notice the obvious leer on your face. "How do I look?"

Gorgeous. Ravishing. Fuckable.

You swallow that candor back down somewhere into your throat before it might otherwise escape you, completely unrestrained.

"You look—incredible." The word sticks to the roof of your mouth as you dart your attention up and down the tiny cocktail dress that barely even constitutes clothing. Its black fabric hugs the contour of her figure so tightly it leaves little to the imagination, but even then you can’t stop imagining all the ways you might rid her of it.

Admittedly, perhaps shamefully, you didn’t think much of Chaewon the first time you met her. Just another pretty girl that would get up on stage to sing and dance—big deal. However, something wouldn’t let you leave it alone. Not only were you wrong, she made damn sure you were sorry for it. You’d found her obstinate, a tad selfish, and more than anything, entirely irresistible.

Before your brain can chide your hands, you saunter forward and wrap yourself around her hips.

"You’re late ya know."

"I wonder why that might be," you say, pressing your lips into her bare shoulder. Your nose tickles the bottoms of her primly cut hair and you breathe in deep. The muddled mix of her shampoo, perfume and the perfect smell that is simply her—it makes a flutter rise in your chest as you let the breath roll off your shoulders.

"You certainly weren’t putting up much of a protest."

"Didn’t realize I had been given a choice."

She smirks, the playful warmth in her eyes holding your reflection with ease. "That’s because you weren’t."

Chaewon pulls your hands forward, folding them gently atop her stomach, the thin material of her dress letting you feel the tightness of those muscles above her waist.

Grabbing a makeup brush off the counter, she delicately applies the finishing touches on a canvas of smooth, porcelain skin, the masterwork of an artist, stretching out along the meticulously drawn lines that define her figure. Your eyes on her and it fast becomes a grand heist of stolen glances; the perfect cut of silky hair resting at her jaw, sculpted eyebrows, sweeping lashes, those perfect lips—the true injustice being that she was so much more than simply the sum of her parts.

You blink your way out of the riptide of brown and gold in Chaewon’s eyes. "Should probably call your friends and let them know we’re running behind schedule."

"Why can’t you?" she asks, "I gave you Minju’s number didn’t I?"

"Well, I mean, they’re not my friends."

Her reflection shoots an eyebrow up somewhere behind those jet black bangs. "Since when are you worried about first impressions?"

"I dunno Chae—you tell me—are they the kind of people to judge a book by its cover?"

"As if there’s anything in those pages of yours worth reading."

Lowering your head, you whisper gently into her ear, "didn’t stop you from paging through them earlier today. Twice."

"Please," she pleads, sparing you a pitiful laugh and slapping playfully at your hands.

Chaewon turns herself in your arms, pulling the hem of that less-than-modest cocktail dress again over the curve of her rear—a battle she’d doubtlessly wage against the fickle garment all evening, one you can’t imagine you’ll ever tire of watching. Hell, you’re not even sure who you’re rooting for.

You watch her eyes widen, glistening, as she reaches her hand up along the edge of your jaw, feeling your smooth, fresh shaven face between her fingers. "You clean up surprisingly nice ya know."

You cock an eyebrow. "Surprisingly?"

Finding a bounce in her feet, Chaewon lifts herself out of her heels. No more than an inch or two, failing to arrive where she wants to be, she repeats the motion several times—her blatantly conspicuous method of demanding you reach down and kiss her.

"Chae… Is there something I can do for you?" you ask, a grin betraying your attempt to play dumb.

"You ass. Come here." A small huff billowing out of her chest, she teases her fingers at the smooth skin on your neck. "Let me at least get a kiss before this becomes all stubbly—otherwise I imagine I’ll have better luck making out with sandpaper."

Before you even get the chance to sink your shoulders, she wraps her fingers around the bottom of your tie, and with a twist and a tug she pulls you into her.

A kiss, sweet but efficient, lingers between you no longer than is prudent. The next, short and inquisitive, is like a second serving of ice cream—inadvisable. For a brief moment, you hold each other with your eyes, able to communicate far more than either of you could ever say. And the third, foolish as it is inviting, finds the last of your inhibition wanting.

You let yourself sink into her, the taste on her lips warming, welcoming, tempting. The spaces between your kisses fill no longer with shy smiles and bated breath, but with profound longing, crashing again in emboldening familiarity.

Your fingers dip dangerously at the hem of Chaewon’s dress, the boundary where smooth skin meets impossibly thin fabric—a playground of reckless decisions. Opposite of you, in no less good judgment, she slides her hands up your chest, quietly lifting your jacket up off your shoulders and finding room for it on the countertop beside you.

Your lips stretch into a coy smirk against hers. "What are you doing?"

Chaewon opens her eyes, mischief smoking from beneath her long lashes, and her voice lilts, "nothing."

She holds her gaze with you, her eyes smoldering with the same playfulness that paints the subtle smirk stretching across her face. She maintains her composure, delicately sweeping her bangs back perfectly into place with one hand, as though she weren’t prying her fingers into the buckle of your belt with the other.

"That’s a whole lot of nothing for someone who was—seconds ago mind you—on my case to hurry up."

"And you’re talking a lot for someone I can feel already getting hard through his pants."

You dig your fingers into the roundness of her ass, pulling her body flush against yours. "I thought you said we were meeting everyone for drinks at six?"

"And I also said check in was at seven," she says, snapping the belt away from your hips.

"You’re insatiable."

"Well, you’re the one who decided to kiss me."

Your eyebrows twist skeptically. "I don’t think that’s how I would describe it."

Her eyes run across the features of your face, resting on the glances she so loved to steal—finding herself contemplating how best she might put your lips to good use. Chin lifted, her voice opens again, "Are you calling me a liar?"

"Perhaps." A flat chuckle breaks your response. "Among other things."

Your hands wander from her waist, up the slender contour of her narrow frame, and you find the shoulder straps of her dress. Rolling them between your fingertips proves them to be as delicate and dainty as they look, easy to sweep off her shoulders with hardly even a simple push.

"Go on then. Let’s get it all out of your system." She unbuttons the front of your pants, sending them to a heap collapsed around your ankles. "What else?"

You think for barely a moment, chirping the first thing that comes to your head. "You’re self-centered."

She pinches the inside of your waistband with her fingertips, pulling it as far as the poor garment will allow before releasing it with a loud thwap. "Uh-huh."

"Spoiled rotten."

"Now that seems a little cold," she says, her voice feigning a despondent tone.

You pull the straps of her dress over her shoulders, letting them fall helplessly down the bare skin on her arms. "And you’re a bit of a brat."

Chaewon’s knuckles fight the tightness of your shorts as she slides her hand to meet the bulge stirring beneath them. She watches closely at the quick breath you draw through tucked lips as she lets her fingers find their favorite spots along your length.

You should be better at this game you play—it’s only the thousandth time you’ve played it. And the score hasn’t been worth keeping for a long time. Maybe somewhere along the way you could’ve picked up a trick or two, but Chaewon is always a step ahead of you, untouchable.

"And still—" Chin lifted, she taps her finger against her lips, her grip beneath the waistband of your shorts tightening. "You want to fuck me so bad."

If she didn’t know it then, she knows it now: somewhere inside you, a red light turns green. You see Chaewon’s mouth opening again, another taunt ready to launch from it, but you steal from her the opportunity, your hand reaching at the nape of her neck, tilting it back—you capture her tender lips again between yours.

Your hands under her arms, you lift her up onto the counter and her legs wrap themselves around you, the edge of her helpless dress rolling up along her thighs until it springs up around her stomach. Her kisses drag along your cheek until you can hear the heat of her breath in your ear.

"What was it you called me? Insatiable?" She works her hand still beneath the tight confines of your shorts as best as they might allow, varying the strength of her fingers’ grip around you—not to mention the unyielding touch of her palm—she rouses your cock fast against its confines. A haughty laugh precedes her. "When you’re this fucking hard?"

"Oh please. Pot, meet kettle." Dragging a finger tip up across the warmth of her entrance, sampling the damp fabric daring to hide it from you still, you listen to her suck a sharp breath past her teeth. 

Mimicking the smug tone of Chaewon’s voice just now, you taunt, "Chae, it lacks a lot of bite when you’re this fucking wet."

You pull the top of her dress down past her chest, two perfect handfuls of soft breasts jumping out over it, two tempting dark buds begging for your lips, your tongue, your teeth. Your nose runs the length of the cleavage gathered in your hands, before again finding her kiss. Once politely, and again expectantly, you pass your tongue against the swell of her lips until finally she lets you in.

"Mmph…" Her muscles jump as you slip your hand again between her thighs, your fingernails ever so barely making contact with gray fabric underneath them. Acquainting themselves quickly to their hot surroundings, your fingertips discover the touches that always make Chaewon weak.

"Twice just wasn’t—enough for you today was it?—you poor thing," you slip forward in the labored breaths between your kisses.

"If we’re keeping count." She bites onto your lip and her hands slide up your chest, looking for something to moor herself to as you press hard against her aching hole, a quiver jolting through her hips. "You only—came in me once."

"I don’t know Chae," you tease, forcing your way past the elastic band around her waist, drawing a gasp from Chaewon’s throat as you dip fingers past the wet warmth you discover. "Weren’t you going on and on about how upset Minju and Yena might be if we’re late?"

“Oh—” She squirms at the pad of your thumb, callously brushing her own wetness over and around her swollen bud. "Screw Minju. Screw Yena. And screw you."

"Well if that’s the case—suppose I could go all by myself." You begin to lean yourself away from her when she reaches for your wrist.

"Do not," she whispers, finding you again with her eyes, now lit so clearly ablaze with want and need.

Her chest jumps at the pleasure you bring, rubbing circles against her freshly shaved mound, and she can’t control the shy smile forming at the corners of her mouth as you drag and tug at the lips of her pussy on each revolving pass. One finger slips inside her warmth, squeezing past her tight entrance. She closes her eyes and tucks her chin to her chest, slowly drawing a purposeful breath in through her nose.

Her hands clutch greedily onto the fabric of your shirt, as you continue to explore the warmth of her hole, teasing at the spots you’ve long learned to recognize, the ones that could make her sing.

“So.” Rubbing and caressing the warm walls around it, your finger makes way for a second, Chaewon shuddering at the sudden inclusion. "You want to cum on my fingers? Or my tongue?"

"Don’t tease me." Her fingers grip tightly around the shape you imprint against your underwear and her brow furrows. "I want this."

There’s a part of you that wants to refuse her, especially when she dons that pouting look, eyes blazing and scowling—you’re convinced she’d trademarked it—but you’ve been trying your best to persuade your thoughts to think of anything other than pinning her to the wall since you caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror. There was no chance.

You feel Chaewon clench around you as you slowly drag your fingers out of her pussy, your fingers coated still in her warm wetness. A step back and the two of you let your eyes communicate to each other exactly what it is you need. Two sets of underwear sliding down off your legs, you both gaze upon temptation, upon the only thing that might release you from it.

Your fingers still wet with the fruits of her excitement, you pump them liberally around your cock, lathering a slippery sheen from hilt to head. Chaewon’s eyes still fix closely on you, like an architect reading a set of blueprints, or a musician a new piece of sheet music, she studies you, undoubtedly taking meticulous notes. Even with the experience she’d built, entanglement after entanglement, seducing orgasm after orgasm out of you, she always had a hunger for more.

Coaxing her forward on the counter, she raises her hips and hangs her ass just over the edge of it, supporting herself on the hands she plants onto the counter behind her. Chaewon whines as you rub the tip of your cock between the lips of her pussy, gathering more of the wetness that glistens and shines around the warmth radiating just beneath its beautiful folds.

You shuffle your feet, adjusting your height to hers. "Ready?"

She hooks herself off the back of your neck, lip curling between her teeth, and for the first time in a while, Chaewon has no cute response, no quip to needle. She simply nods her head.

"Fuck," she hisses, her face wincing as you push yourself into her warm embrace. The further and further you fill her, the more you can feel her stretch to receive you. You hang your head a moment on her shoulder, overwhelmed by the heat, the depth, the tightness that is Chaewon around you. It doesn’t matter how many times you’d buried yourself inside her, it always rearranges your thoughts, makes it difficult to speak.

"Chae—god—you’re tight."

Your hips are second to move, Chaewon quickly lifting hers against you, desperately searching for the friction they now so desperately crave. She punches her breath into your ear, teasing again, "C’mon now. It’s not your first time—don’t just stand there."

A groan leaks from your chest, your cock carefully moving itself again past her entrance. You struggle with the tie around your neck, and Chaewon gathers the cue to start working at the buttons down your shirt, freeing you of everything save a pair of dress socks you hope she wouldn’t look down to notice. Though luckily she’s more interested in your lips—reaching her hands into your hair and seizing you into a kiss of her own. You can feel the vibration of each quiet moan that escapes her lungs rattle off your teeth as your slow thrusts find a momentary rest, deep in the heat of her aching cunt.

You cup Chaewon’s breasts between your fingers, squeezing the soft malleable skin a tad harder than you should, and a strained yelp spills through the seal of your kiss. The sound only persuades you to find her swollen nipples, rolling and gently twisting the sensitive flesh between your fingertips. You drink in the sounds of her reactions, wincing and gasping, working her between your hands.

Slowly, on account of the way Chaewon manages to suck you in, you find yourself moving faster, hitting deeper, the connection between your lips struggling to meet your rhythm. Chaewon’s legs reach around you, pulling you further into her at the end of each thrust, wrapping and gripping your cock with a perfect warmth. It’s your turn to roll your lip past your teeth, biting down to find a momentary release as the feeling of Chaewon’s tight body becomes foolishly enjoyable. You stammer, "You feel so fucking good Chae."

She closes her eyes tight. "Yeah—you’re—making me—so—wet."

Heavy breaths slice the words coming from Chaewon’s mouths into fragments, each rising and falling with the motion of your hips crashing against hers. "Your cock—it feels so—amazing."

Reaching forward, you find the soft skin beneath Chaewon’s jaw with your lips. The way she looks, the way she feels, the way she sounds—your thoughts are filled with her. A taste of salt from the first few beads of sweat enters your mouth, and there’s little left you can do to possibly escape her.

"Fucking—," Chaewon groans, her fingers digging into your back, "I need it faster—harder."

You pull yourself off her, untangling her arms and legs from your back and in one swift motion, gathering her ankles together over your shoulder. The toes of her shoes click against one another as you position her where you want her, where you need her. The weight of her round thighs pressed into one another—the slick walls around you—you feel it almost pushing you out of her warmth completely. But you dig in on your heels, pushing yourself into her and relishing the unreal tightness that you bury yourself in, again and again.

The sounds off her lips, they drive you mad. The look on her face, it drives you mad. The grip she has on your throbbing cock, it drives you mad. But its her eyes—filled now with urgency and need—lustful eyes that drink in the image of you fucking her, trusting eyes that look to you provide everything she could ever desire, gentle eyes that hold you tender yet, they effortlessly set your heart aflame.

No longer committed to words, having found the adjusted angle, the new depth, the novel sensation of your cock burying itself into her, she simply lets out a long, seedy moan, one that starts on the lofted pitch of a particularly lustful note, and ends panting miserably beneath her breath.

"Chae," You groan, teeth gritting as you slam your hips into the soft cushioning of her thighs, "you feel incredible."

"Faster." The word barely makes it over the out-of-breath puffs of dry air that heave off her chest. "Please—I need more."

You give her more. And then some. There’s little you can hear beyond the sound of your own thighs slapping wet skin against hers. Each time you bury yourself into her, you can hear the blood rush to your head, spinning and twisting your thoughts about and flushing back down as you pull yourself out along the slippery walls of her pulsing cunt. You hug tighter at the legs across your chest, gripping Chaewon’s delicate body and racking it beneath you—her moans grow louder, more intense, more needy.

Again her voice rasps, "faster."

Always is everything on her terms. It doesn’t quite make you angry, but you’d be lying through your teeth if you said she didn’t often frustrate you. You slow yourself at the end of a long stroke, dragging your throbbing length slowly out of her pussy and wiping sweat from your brow. "Hop down."

Exasperated, she complains, "What the hell are you—"

"Hop down."

Chaewon’s eyebrows twist in confusion, and she whines as you pull yourself from her grip completely. Her feet land on the floor and a huff of hot air shoots from her chest. Just because she’s a handful doesn’t mean you can’t steer her with a commanding voice, the sternest you can muster—a commodity increasingly in demand.

"Now turn around."

With a slight hesitation, and her gaze lingering in yours, she shuffles and faces the mirror. You press yourself behind her, your slick shaft welcomed by two gentle curves of her ass. She’s caught in your reflection, just as you are in hers. You watch closely how her lips purse and her eyes shut tight the moment you take her breasts in your hands. "Do you want me to make you cum?"

A quiet voice, subdued and meek, splits the silence, "yes."

You lean forward, lips hovering against her ear. "Grab the sink."

For once, Chaewon does as she is told, her fingers curling over the top of the chic white bowl beneath the mirror. The hourglass of her figure presenting itself perfectly at your waist, you grab a hold of hers, the bunched fabric of her dress filling your hand.

You dip your finger into her folds, quivering in exactly the messy state you’d left them. "Tell me exactly what I should do."

She raises her face between her shoulders, eyes practically glaring at you through the mirror. "Fuck me."

The tip of your cock against her, you tease the lips around her entrance, the obvious look of need filling in Chaewon’s expression."Aw—Chae—we both know you can give better directions than that."

Begrudgingly, desperately, she plays along. "I want you—I need you—to fuck me until I—"

You watch her mouth gape and her eyes widen as you drive into her. Burying yourself in the inviting, stretching, grips of her pussy, your hips land flush against the soft tender skin of her ass. It's an angle that hits deep, Chaewon still struggling to vocalize the words failing to leave her tongue, but as you thrust yourself into her again, the look of shock becomes one of pure euphoria.

You can feel a specific fatigue, one that arrives with three sessions—Chaewon’s appetite voracious—in a little under twelve hours, but any weary thoughts you harbor are galvanized by the image of Chaewon’s toned, tight, athletic body, folded against your waist, writhing in the pleasure only you could bring. Finding again a tumultuous rhythm, you fuck the girl in your hands with reckless abandon.

"How does that feel Chae?" Tightening your grip on the fabric of her dress, you pull her back into each of your thrusts, her ass receiving your hips and ringing with a strident slap.

"So hard—so deep," she gasps, her voice trailing off into an urgent cry, "so—fucking—amazing!"

The prim cut of jet black hair that rests on her shoulders had become disheveled and unruly, a rare sight. Her face twists and contorts deliciously in front of you as she watches attentively at the way you fuck her.

"God—God—God, fuuuuck!" she cries, rolling her hips back and rocking opposite your thrusts. Yearning, pleading, she needs you and your cock bad. Sinking her face between her shoulders, she slides forward onto the counter. "There. There. There. There!"

You can see only one hand, knuckles clenched, grip helplessly at the sink, while the other steals away between her thighs, rubbing and caressing at the hot mess between them. There was never an enough for Chaewon—always needing more attention, love, pleasure—little was ever sufficient.

The dress around her waist, bundled and clutched in your hands makes the perfect rein, and you pull back on its makeshift strap, bringing Chaewon’s shoulders nearly flat against yours. Taking in the image first on the mirror, your flushed faces inches apart, gasping for breath, you bend and kiss at the skin that draws her neck from her shoulder.

"Fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck!" The cries of pleasure keep you locked into a dangerous cadence, slamming your hips into her, filling her with your throbbing shaft. She mewls, she moans, and you reach a hand against her breasts, pressing together soft skin—an outlet for your pleasure and a conduit for hers. "You’re gonna—I’m—fuck!"

You whisper into her ear, catching a nipple between your fingers, twisting, teasing, tormenting. "Cum on this cock Chaewon—cum however you like."

Her voice is hoarse, but still she begs, "Tell me—tell me how you like fucking me."

"Chae," you strain against gritted teeth, "I fucking love it."

"Tell me there’s no one—no one better."

"Nobody—" you clench your eyes tight, letting the blood flow anywhere else in your head. "Nobody is even close."

"I can’t!—Fucking—I can’t!—god it’s so—fuck!"

The words out of her mouth are less and less cohesive, your name, curses and nonsense all muddled beneath her breath in whatever order the pleasure reeling through her head prefers. She moans, she mewls, and all too obviously, she seeks release.

Her eyes find yours through the reflection above the sink, smoldering, they say a thousand words, most of them fuck and please admittedly, but you recognize the look that makes your heart, droning along its dull beat, catch fire and race—the one she held beneath her lashes the first time she told you she loved you, and every time after that.

She’s obstinate, selfish. She can be a bit of brat. But she’s perfect. And she’s yours.

"Chae I’m gonna—"

Just a little more, she mouths silently, nodding her head and struggling to keep her eyes open still, stealing everything they need from you.

It takes everything in you to keep yourself from crossing that threshold, to make it just a little more. Cumming together was for fairy tales, and you weren’t going to be around to see the look on Chaewon’s face should you beat her to it. You bite your lip, your cheek, your hands press relentlessly into her breasts, her ass, anything that might distract you just a few more precious moments from the intense, quivering heat clenching around your shaft.

"Fuuuuuck."

The word is long and drawn out. Through its vowels, it meanders from its initial register a scale of wildly salacious notes, each one more debauched and husked than the last, until finally it lands hard, crackling on those final consonants. Chaewon’s body goes rigid, landing forward again against the counter.

Leaning into her, you follow the curving rise of her spine, fingers digging harshly into the perfect shape of her ass—pulling her into the ends of your thrusts. She quivers and quakes, trembling through the storm of pleasure you’d both created between her legs. It clutches you, clenches around you.

"Fuck, Chae, I’m gonna fucking cum—"

A surprisingly lucid moment has you both staring into each other, Chaewon’s face twisted and strained—her eyebrows curling and her lip between her teeth—she nods. And on a particularly deep, rather unforgiving thrust, she takes you completely into her. The warmth envelops you and you begin to feel dizzy. You don’t even know how to describe the sound that leaves your lips, but it makes the tension building in your head more bearable all the same.

Chaewon’s cunt still quivering in ecstasy, you erupt.

Her voice rasps past your ears as you continue to fuck your cum into her, "Fuck—baby, that’s it, cum for me."

As much as you want to continue soaking in the visual in front of you, the curve of her back, the flare of her hips, the flustered look on her face, your eyes shut tight. A primal instinct, involuntary and cruel. You feel each jolt from your hips delivering more of your hot release deep into Chaewon’s orgasm—clenching and pulling you further into her.

Your hips slow to a halt, your cock still resting in her, and Chaewon reaches up again, finding your lips in a clumsy kiss, her lips cool, wet and comforting. Heavy breaths shared between you start to rouse you back into reality and the noise of Chaewon’s phone buzzing stridently on the vanity rips you both back into the world of the living.

Minju’s smiling face appears atop her name on the dark screen—slowly vibrating its way to the edge of the counter. You pant, gathering enough breath to ask the obvious question, "Are you gonna answer that?"

Chaewon stares at it blankly for a couple seconds, weighing her options, before finally reaching forward and picking it up. Her breathing still beleaguered, she does her best attempt at whipping a composed voice together.

"No—we’re still—I know, I’m sorry."

She mouths to you, pointing expectantly at the heap of clothes on the floor. And then she sees it.

"Were you wearing those socks the whole fucking time?—no, Minju, I mean—I’m sorry that was—" She gives you a sour look and tosses your jacket out the door. Holding her phone against her neck, Chaewon’s instructions are clear, "Check-in is at seven."

[lemoncrushh]

Tattooed Heart - Part V

SUMMARY: You are a cocktail waitress at a swanky lounge. Harry comes in one night, and you instantly dislike him. But another encounter eventually changes your opinion.

PAIRING: Waitress Y/N x Artist/Tattoo Artist Harry

TROPES: Enemies to Lovers

MUST BE 18+ TO READ

WORD COUNT: 5k+

STORY PAGE

Unlocking the door, you treaded lightly across the living room to the kitchen, knowing Shae was either still sleeping or getting ready for work. While you definitely wouldn’t consider it the walk of shame - you had nothing to be ashamed of - you knew the inevitable conversation with your roommate was fast approaching, and you weren’t looking forward to it.

Opening the cabinet quietly, you pulled out the coffee canister and prepared the pot, hoping to at least perk your friend’s mood. When you heard her door open, you braced yourself for a scowl or evil eye, but instead, she padded down the hall to the bathroom, not even looking in your direction. With a sigh, you poured yourself a cup of coffee and sat at the counter, inhaling the aroma as your mind began to wander.

Harry had been so sweet that morning, pouting slightly when you’d told him you had to get home and get ready for work. With heavy eyelids, he’d kissed you softly, offering to make you breakfast.

“You’ve cooked for me plenty,” you’d declined with a smile. “Besides, I should probably explain everything to Shae like I’d promised before my shift starts.”

When he’d driven you home, he’d pulled you into a deep kiss, causing your head to spin and your insides to melt. Then he’d wished you a pleasant day with a smile, promising to call later.

“Hey,” you heard before you saw her.

Clearing your throat and blinking your eyes, you sat up and acknowledged your roommate. “Good morning.”

Shae remained with her back to you as she grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured herself a cup of coffee. Sipping your own, you wondered if she was giving you the cold shoulder, until she finally sighed and muttered, “How was your date?”

“Wonderful…actually,” you said, hoping she’d turn to face you.

“Really? Well…I guess I kinda figured that since you stayed out all night. Did you just get home?”

“Yeah,” you swallowed.

Finally turning around, Shae looked at you with wide eyes.

“He must be amazing. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to, Shae. And I should have. It’s just…well honestly, I wasn’t sure if he was for real at first. Even after he apologized, I couldn’t bring myself to accept it right away.”

“Wait…back up,” your roommate held up her hand. Then taking the stool next to yours, she continued. “Start at the beginning. Like, right after you ran into him at the coffee shop.”

“Well, like I told you, he helped me get the job. He vouched for me, told my boss I was the best waitress he’d ever had.”

“Right. And I told you you should have kissed him,” Shae smirked. “But you thought he had some kind of motive. Or was just feeling guilty.”

“Yeah, I was kind of right about that last part,” you said, taking a sip of coffee.

“So, what? He kept apologizing or something? Came in and stalked you?”

“No. He’s actually a regular at the cafe. Everyone else who works there knows him. He comes in to work on his tablet or laptop. He’s an artist. He doesn’t just do tattoos.”

Shae’s mouth dropped open as she stared at you.

“He stays to himself mostly,” you continued, “but I quickly realized he’s a nice guy. So I went to his shop to talk to him and…he asked me out.”

“Oh my God.”

“I didn’t tell you that night of our first date because…well, like I said…I wasn’t sure yet. But we had a nice meal and a long discussion. Turns out he was telling the truth. He was really drunk that night and he feels really bad about the way he treated me.”

When you took another drink from your mug, Shae continued to glare at you, an invisible question mark above her head. “And?”

“And what?”

“That’s it? No more details? You’re leaving it there?”

With a chuckle, you ran your fingers through your hair. “There’s not much more to tell except…he’s a fantastic man.”

“Obviously. That’s why you got home at seven in the morning.”

“Shae!” you laughed harder.

“How many times have you been out with him?”

“Yesterday was our second date.”

“Wow,” Shae sighed. “That was a long second date.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you grinned.

“Seriously? You’re not even gonna throw me a bone? I’ve been your roommate for three years!”

“I will tell you one thing,” you offered.

“What?”

“He’s designed a tattoo. For me.”

“Get out! When are you getting it done?”

Looking down at your cup, you traced the rim with your fingertip. “I don’t know. He wanted to do it last night, but I told him we could save it for another time. I’m just not sure how I feel about it yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just…very personal. It feels…extremely intimate.”

Shae snorted, making you glare at her. “You did have sex with him, right?”

“I don’t mean that,” you shook your head. “It’s much more intimate than sex.”

“Oh.”

You weren’t certain if your roommate understood what you meant, but you didn’t expect her to. Rising from your stools, you gave each other hugs. You apologized again for not informing her of Harry sooner, and she wished you the best with him.

“I’m happy it all worked out,” she declared. “Especially glad he’s not a jerk. Because he’s really attractive. But I was willing to hate him for you.”

“I know,” you nodded, remembering your conversation with Harry the day before. “And I love you for that.”

“Can I get a cappuccino with light foam and a blueberry scone?”

You rang up the customer with a smile, only to take another’s order right afterwards. Taking a deep breath, you exhaled slowly. The cafe was extra busy, especially for a Wednesday. Luckily, you only had twenty minutes left before your break. You felt Jill and Melaina busying themselves behind you, trying to get the drink orders out as fast as they could. When the last man in line placed his order, you quickly grabbed a rag and wiped down the counter. You’d just stuffed it away when the door opened again.

“Good afternoon,” you announced before the woman had even approached you. “What can I get y-”

Stopping your sentence before the last word, you suddenly recognized the familiar face. And blonde hair.

“Oh, hello. It’s you,” she said, almost in a snarl.

“Yes?” you questioned, your brow raised.

Scanning the seating area, Nicolette spoke again without looking at you. “I was hoping I might find Harry here. I understand he frequents this cafe.”

“He’s not here,” you remarked flatly. ‘Frequents this cafe’? Was she trying to sound posh? She wasn’t even British.

“Oh, pity.” Yep, she definitely was. You rolled your eyes before she turned back to face you. “I’ve rung and texted him several times, but he hasn’t replied. If you speak to him, will you let him know Nicolette is looking for him?”

“What for?” you asked, shocking even yourself at your boldness.

Nicolette frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”

“Okay then. No.”

“Pardon me?” the blonde looked taken aback.

“I will not tell him. He doesn’t need to have any more contact with you. Your transaction is through.”

“My transaction?” Nicolette repeated, her face contorting into something that resembled a confused rat.

“You’re not a nice person, and you use people. You used Harry to get what you wanted, and now it’s over.”

The blonde chuckled slowly, then threw her head back and began to cackle. This time she resembled Cruella DeVille. “Oh, sweetie. You’ve got it all backwards. Harry Styles used me. Now, I would watch yourself if I were you.”

Plucking a mint from the bowl on the counter, Nicolette strutted off, the door swinging closed behind her as she walked out into the sunshine.

“Who the hell was that?” gasped Jill whom you’d forgotten stood behind you. You were grateful to see that Melaina was wiping down tables. She may have not heard or seen the interaction.

“Harry’s ex,” you muttered.

“Holy crap. How do you know that? You’ve seen her?”

You cringed, suddenly realizing you may have to reveal your secret to Jill. “Um, there’s pictures of her with him on his website.”

“But you told her she’s not a nice person. You must have met her before.”

With a sigh, you decided to come clean. “I saw her yesterday. At the art gallery.”

“The art gallery?” Jill’s eyes widened. “Did you go to see Harry’s art?”

Biting your lip, you nodded. “With Harry.”

“Oh my God!” Jill covered her mouth with her hand, then whispered, “Are you dating him?”

“Yeah. But please, let’s keep it between us for now.”

“Why? Everyone here loves him! They’d be happy for you. I’m happy for you!”

“I appreciate that,” you grinned. “It’s just…it’s still new, you know?”

“Oh! Say no more. I totally get it. But I’m so happy for you!”

You chuckled as Jill put her hands on her hips. “Huh, I wonder why I’ve never seen her. She’s never come in here before.”

“I wonder why she was looking for Harry,” you added. “Maybe something to do with his art.”

“What was that she said to you at the end? Just before she left?”

“Oh, um…I don’t know.”

“Something about watching yourself? What did she mean by that?”

You simply shrugged as Melaina returned to the counter and the door opened once more. “Beats me.”

Harry called you that evening after he got home from work. You chatted lightly for a bit about Shae and both of your jobs until you decided to tell him about your little encounter with his ex-whatever-she-was.

“She came to the cafe just to find me?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah. How did she know you hang out there?”

“Ugh,” Harry groaned with a pause. “I may have mentioned it.”

“Oh.”

“In fact, I think I asked her to join me for coffee once, but she brushed me off. Said she had other plans.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, babe. She shouldn’t have done that.”

You sighed. “Well, it’s a public place. And I don’t think she knew I worked there. Did she?”

“I don’t see how. But she was deliberately rude to you, and I don’t like that. You didn’t deserve it.”

“I’ve had to deal with ruder people,” you joked.

“Y/N…”

“Harry…” you mimicked his tone.

“You’re gonna keep taking the piss, aren’t you?” he chuckled.

“Only because I know the real you now.”

“Do you?”

“Um…I…hope I do,” you said.

“Hmm, I reckon you’re one of very few who does.”

“I’m glad,” you grinned, your cheeks warm. “What about Nicolette?”

“What about her?”

“Did she ever see the real you?”

“Not even close. I mean…she knew me on a surface level. She knew I created art. She thought I had talent…or so she claimed. But she didn’t know me any deeper than that.”

“Did she know you like to cook?” you asked.

“I doubt it," Harry snorted. "She lives on cocktails and nicotine. Not exactly the domestic type."

“So it was pretty much just a physical relationship.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. Although you knew the answer, your mouth betrayed you with your brain’s curiosity.

“Um…we don’t have to talk about that.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just…she said something to me that kind of rubbed me wrong.”

“What was that?”

“She said you used her, not the other way around. And that I should watch myself. What did she mean?”

You heard Harry hiss in a breath. “I dunno.”

“Was she implying you’ll use me too?”

“Maybe. Because she’s a bit delusional.”

“I see.”

“Babe…you don’t believe that, do you? Tell me you don’t.”

“I don’t. At least…I hope not. But, you know…we don’t know each other that well yet.”

Harry chuckled, “You just said you knew the real me.”

“I know, but…it’s only been a few days.”

“Honey…” Harry paused as you heard his breaths through the phone. “What do I have to do to convince you?”

“Convince me of what?”

“That I’m not the creep you first met. I’m not a bastard who gets people fired. I’m not an arrogant asshole, and I don’t use women.”

Biting your lip, you fingered the hem on your t-shirt. “That’s not entirely true, is it?”

“What?”

“Well…you said yourself - Nicolette was a rich girl. And you thought she could help you meet people.”

Harry sighed, sounding defeated. “That’s true. And I told you I wasn't proud of it.”

“So you admit you used her.”

“Yeah. But not in the way you think.”

“There’s more than one way?” you laughed nervously.

“It was…kind of mutual, if you will,” replied Harry.

“Okay.”

“There were no feelings involved. I…she wasn’t looking for a relationship. She made it pretty obvious from the beginning. And I was okay with that because…I was too focused on my art to give her more. And she was far too busy to hardly remember I existed.”

“That doesn’t sound fun at all,” you commented.

“It wasn’t,” Harry confirmed. “Her father knew Sherod who owns the art gallery. She helped set me up with an exhibit. We - dated, if you could call it that - for a little over three months. But we barely spent any time together unless it had to do with business. I hardly knew her.”

“And she hardly knew you,” you added.

“Yeah, exactly.”

Exhaling through your nose, you laid back on your pillow. “Thank you for telling me that, Harry.”

“You’re welcome, love. Does it make you feel better?”

“A little. Not that I felt bad or anything. I was just curious.”

“But it did bother you, right? What she said?”

“Yeah.”

“Baby…you do know I’m not using you, right?”

“Well, yeah,” you snickered, “I’m not rich.”

“Y/N!”

You giggled harder. “I’m playing with you, Harry!”

“I swear to God, if you didn’t have such a cute laugh, I’d-” Harry’s words stopped.

“You’d what?”

You heard Harry hum softly, and you could tell he was smiling through the phone. “This is what I mean,” he said genuinely. “Nicolette and I…we didn’t have this. She’s…a different kind of girl. She’s not…”

“Giggly?” you asked.

“She’s not you.”

You felt your heart flip in your chest at his admission. Though your room was dark, you might as well have been walking on sunshine. Your insides danced and glowed while you tried hard to bring together a string of words and form a sentence. Fortunately, Harry continued his thoughts instead.

“I don’t care that it’s only been a few days, a couple of dates. I’m already having way more fun with you than I ever had with her. And I know it’s not fair to compare, and I’m stupid to even try. I just want you to know…that’s how I feel.”

“Wow,” you breathed. “Harry, I…don’t even know what to say.”

“It’s alright. I’ve said enough. Now we can drop the subject before I scare you away.”

You smiled as you silently wished he was with you in person so you could kiss his soft lips.

“Can I ask one more question?”

“Okay.”

“Did you call her back?”

“Nicolette? No…I’m not interested in anything she has to say.”

“Oh.”

“Can we change the subject now, baby?”

“Of course,” you beamed before asking him about the tattoos he’d done that evening, and what art he was currently working on, all while trying to keep your feelings in check every time he gave you a term of endearment.

Harry came to the cafe Friday morning. In fact, he was already there when you’d arrived for the mid-morning shift, Stan and Carol having opened. You smiled when you walked in from the rear entrance, tying your apron, his back to you as he sat in his regular spot.

“Good morning,” you greeted softly as you walked past his table.

He lifted his head from his iPad, giving you a sleepy, lop-sided grin before mouthing, “Morning, sweetheart.”

Your insides melted as usual while you made your way to the front counter. As you greeted Stan and his wife, you stole another glance at the only occupied table. Though you knew it was ludicrous to even consider, you missed him. It was only Tuesday that you’d had that most pleasant day with him, and you’d chatted for over two hours on the phone Wednesday night. But Thursday hadn’t proven to be much of a Harry day. With the exception of a short text during your lunch break when he’d said he would be busy most of the day, and a quick goodnight text before bed, you hadn’t even spoken. You longed to hear his voice, like a lover thousands of miles away from her beloved. You’d shaken the notion the night before after you’d laid in bed staring at the ceiling for an hour after that quick text. You knew he was busy, most likely with his art. And you didn’t feel like it was your place to inquire about it. It was one day for crying out loud.

“Get a hold of yourself, Y/N!” you’d groaned, turning out the lamp and pulling the covers up to your chin.

Still, to see him sat at his usual, familiar table was a huge relief. And the fact he’d called you sweetheart was just icing on the cake.

A few customers trickled in during the first thirty minutes of your shift, and by the next hour, the cafe was nearly full. You were only able to stop by Harry’s table a couple of times, mostly to ask if he wanted a refill and to wipe down nearby tables. Each time, he seemed to be deep into his work. You caught a glimpse or two here and there, but you didn’t want to disturb him. Finally at eleven, Jill came in for her shift and Stan and Carol left soon after.

“How’s everything going with Handsome?” Jill asked as you prepared a latte.

“Fine,” you grinned.

“He seems extra focused today.”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I don’t wanna bother him.”

Just then, as if he knew you were talking about him, Harry lifted his head and peered over at you. His smile grew across his face as he sat back and stretched. You couldn’t help but smile back. And when he motioned for you to come his way, your breath caught in your throat.

“Sorry, love, I wasn’t trying to ignore you,” he said when you reached his table.

“I know. You looked very busy and deep in thought,” you nodded.

“It’s only ‘cause I was trying to finish up a few things.”

“Okay,” you shrugged.

Harry surprised you by reaching out his hand to your waist and pulling you closer.

“I wasn’t trying to ignore you yesterday either. I had a lot of business to tend to. But I thought about you.” His other hand slid around the other side of your waist as his eyes gazed up at you.

“You don’t have to reassure me, Harry,” you partially lied.

“No? Hmm, thought maybe you missed me. ‘Cause I missed you.”

A nervous laughter left your chest and you shook your head. “God, you’re good.”

“Yeah? Good at what?”

“At…making me feel…things.”

“Hmm,” Harry lifted his brows. “What kind of things?”

The door opened then, and a couple of people walked in. Seeing that Jill already had a customer, you figured you should help.

“I have to get back to work, Harry,” you commented, grabbing his wrists and pulling them from your hips.

“Alright,” he smirked. “I have to go anyway. Can I see you tonight?”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“Kyle’s closing tonight. I get off at nine.”

“Oh! Okay, yeah.”

“Good,” Harry grinned, rising from his chair and slipping his backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll call you later, babe.”

Then with no hesitation at all, he cupped your chin with one hand and planted a big, wet kiss on your lips. For what was probably just two seconds in reality, you stood frozen in your spot as though time was fastforwarding around you, your eyes wide, your mouth open as Harry murmured a goodbye and left the cafe.

Your phone buzzed that evening while you were in the middle of a writing session. You hadn’t written anything in what seemed like forever. But somehow, you were suddenly inspired. And you figured the caller had a lot to do with it.

“Hey!” you answered with a smile in your voice.

“Hi, beautiful. I have a request.”

“Oh?”

“So…there’s been a change of plans for tonight.”

“Oh,” you frowned, disappointment apparent in your tone.

“How do you feel about a cocktail party?” asked Harry.

“I…what…where?”

Harry chuckled. “It’s at the gallery. It’s kind of last minute, I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to put together something for a potential buyer. That’s part of what I was working on yesterday. I was hoping to set something up for next week, but turns out the client’s only in town this weekend. And I have to work late tomorrow night.”

“Oh. Well, that’s exciting! I’ve never been to one of these types of things though. You sure you want me there?”

“You’re the only person I want there, love. Well, besides the client, of course.”

“Then I’d love to come.”

“Great! I’m gonna try to leave a bit early, so can you be ready at nine o’clock?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you so much, baby. I’ll see you then.”

“Are you nervous?” you asked when Harry parked the car.

“Why, do I look nervous?” he turned his head to look at you. His eyes were wild and he continued to drum his hands against the steering wheel.

“A little,” you smirked. Then you reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “It’s okay if you are though. I totally understand.”

Harry’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath before he squeezed your hand. “I guess I am. I just…want this to go well.”

“It will. I believe.”

Harry’s eyes twinkled in the dim light from the dashboard. “Thanks, babe. You look absolutely gorgeous tonight, by the way. Did I tell you?”

“You may have mentioned it,” you beamed. You’d been so relieved to find the little black dress in the back of your closet from two years ago. And even more relieved that it still fit. But that relief didn’t compare to the look on Harry’s face when you’d opened the door. His obvious heart-eyes matched yours as you took in his sexy black suit and open shirt.

“Are you ready to go in?” you asked him.

“Yeah,” he exhaled again, opening the car door.

Stepping into the gallery, you were surprised to see a small marquee with Harry's name on it. To the right stood the woman you recognized from the reception desk. She greeted you both with a smile, letting you know Sherod was already waiting inside.

"Harry! There you are!" announced the gallery owner when you rounded the corner. "And you dear, you look smashing!" Sherod held out his hand to you and gave you a chaste kiss on the cheek."

"Thank you," you blushed.

You noticed a handful of people gathered around Harry's art as a waiter walked up with a tray of wine, offering you a glass.

"He's not here yet, I take it," remarked Harry.

"Not yet. He's on his way."

You watched as Harry and Sherod made small talk with the other guests, Harry introducing you to them which made you feel nice. Each time someone would give him a compliment, you felt his hand press against your lower back as though you were his rock steadying him.

You were both on your second glasses of wine when the so-called potential client arrived. He wasn't what you were expecting - although you weren't sure what that was. Donovan McNulty wore a navy blue suit with a red shirt and tie. He was probably an inch or two shorter than Harry with bleached blonde hair and an Irish accent. He had a pleasant smile that seemed to be permanent on his face. You liked him right away.

You listened as he expressed his interest in Harry's art. While he liked all of his work, he was particularly fond of one piece, the one that you had secretly declared your personal favorite.

"It's the perfect piece for my office, directly behind my desk," remarked Donovan as he held his hands up like a frame.

You beamed at Harry, trying to hide your glee from the client.

"I think that would be a smart choice," you heard a female voice say behind you.

Twirling around, you were met with the one face you hoped you'd never have to see again.

"Harry, so sorry I'm late," Nicolette said with her pointed face as she placed her hand on his bicep before addressing the buyer, extending her other hand. "Good evening. Nicolette Waters."

"Donovan McNulty, love! How d'you do?"

You stood glaring at the interaction before turning to Harry. "What is she doing here?" you seethed.

"I dunno. I told her it wasn't a good idea."

"You told her? You said you hadn't talked to her."

"I know, babe, I'm sorry. But she got a hold of me yesterday. She kinda helped me set this up. I asked her not to come, though."

Unable to form any more words, you stared at him, a lump in your throat. You could feel the tears threatening to form in your eyes and you blinked rapidly.

"Excuse me…" you cried before escaping the area, hastily searching for the ladies room.

Moments later as you sat in the stall, wiping your tears, you heard a wrap on the door.

"Y/N. Baby, please come out. I'm sorry. I should have told you." While his voice was low and calm, his words were anxious. "I'll explain everything when we leave. I just need you to come out now, okay? Please?"

You realized then that you weren't exactly sure what you were upset about. Was it that Harry hadn't told you about Nicolette? Or simply that she'd shown up? Either way, you knew that this night wasn't about you. It was about Harry. And his art. This was his night, his chance. And you didn't want to ruin it.

Sniffling, you rose from the toilet and flushed it. "I'll be right there, Harry," you called. After washing your hands, you were surprised to find him still standing on the other side of the door. His expression was a combination of concern and indignation, his jaw set.

"I'm so sorry," he said again. "I honestly didn't think-"

"It's fine, Harry," you held up your hand. "Like you said, you can tell me later. Let's go talk to Mr. McNulty."

"You sure you're okay?"

You nodded, giving him a tight smile. He hesitantly took your hand and you followed him back to the party. Nicolette was still giving Donovan an earful, or perhaps it was the other way around. You stood back, releasing Harry's fingers from your own, gesturing for him to take the lead. You watched with pride as he interjected the conversation, re-earning the client's attention. Before long, the two seemed like old mates, Harry making Donovan laugh and vice versa.

"He's so very talented," one of the other women said to you a few minutes later when you decided to wander around the gallery.

"Yes," you nodded. "He is."

"I heard he does custom tattoos as well. Is that true?"

Turning to face the woman, you noticed she had a sleeve of ink on her left arm. Grinning, you nodded again. "Fine Line Ink is his shop. He owns it."

"Oh, I'll have to check it out! Not that I need any more tattoos," she chuckled.

"I'm about to get my first," you commented quickly. You weren't sure why you said it. But you realized then that it was the truth.

"Oh, really? I figured being his girlfriend, you'd already have loads."

Color rose to your cheeks. "We just started dating."

The woman's eyes widened as she leaned closer and touched your arm. "You must be very special to him, then!"

After your little chat with the friendly woman, you were eyeing that tranquil painting that you and Harry admired when you felt a hand slip around your waist.

"I sold it," he whispered in your ear.

You grinned. "I knew you would."

"You ready to go?"

You shifted to face him. "Already? That's it?"

"Yep. Sherod takes care of the rest."

"And Nicolette?"

"She left. Few moments ago."

"Okay."

Harry led you outside to his car, opening the passenger door for you. Neither of you said anything else until you were stopped at a red light.

"Please forgive me, love. I know I should have told you."

"Yeah, you should have. Especially after telling me you had no interest in talking to her."

"I didn't. But she found me yesterday. There at the gallery, actually. She told me about McNulty. He was very interested in my art. I couldn't let a potential sale slip away. You get that, right?"

"I do," you nodded. "And I'm sorry I ran off. It was selfish of me. I was just upset she was there and…I guess I was jealous."

"Nothing to be jealous over, Y/N. It was strictly business. I told her I didn't think it was a good idea for her to come, even though she acted like she was entitled to be there since she'd gotten me the lead."

"I guess I can understand that," you said.

"She shouldn't have though. She only did it out of spite. And I'm sorry I hurt you in the process. I shouldn't have kept it from you. I just hoped she wouldn't show. I was stupid to think she wouldn't."

Lifting your hand to his shoulder, you slid it down his arm. "You’re forgiven."

Harry was quiet again until he was almost at his flat. Clearing his throat he looked at you.

"Again, I shouldn't have assumed. Am I driving to my place…or yours?"

You considered his question for a moment. While you still felt a sourness in the pit of your stomach, you knew you weren’t angry with him. It was his special night, and he’d earned that sale. As a smile slowly grew on your lips, you threaded your fingers through his.

"I guess that depends on how you want to celebrate."

One more part left which will be reposted tomorrow. Thank you for all the likes and reblogs! I wish I hadn't deleted this in the first place, but hopefully it's gotten some new readers. :)

[noxturnalpascal]

Happy Ending [II]

Masterlist (with all warnings)

A/N: tía - aunt, tío - uncle, primo - cousin, dios mío - my god, chulo - pimp, bonito - pretty (masculine), mala - bad, cariño - darling, guapo - handsome, mi amor - my love

🩷 🌅 🌴

The next morning he lets himself sleep late - nearly 10am - but gives himself plenty of time to shower and wrangle his hair so he’s presentable for the 2pm beachfront service. He uses the outdoor rainfall shower, enjoying the sounds of the waves and the breeze blowing through the palm fronds. He heads into the closet, drops the towel on the bathroom floor and throws on a pair of boxer-briefs. He goes to grab the suit he hastily hung up while unpacking yesterday and a panic grips him when he realizes it’s not there. 

He turns around three full times, checking and rechecking the empty closet, and begins to immediately sweat, wondering where the fuck it could have gone to when he hears a knock at the main door. He’s wondering what to do and who to call and when he pulls the door open he’s hit with a wave of relief as he sees Kiki standing there holding his suit out in front of her.

“Oh thank god, I was just looking for-,” he pauses and points at his suit. “Wait, how did you get my suit?”

“When I came to the room for turn-down service last night I noticed this suit hanging in your closet. It was covered in wrinkles and it smelled like…” she’s tactful enough not to finish her sentence. “So I just assumed you wanted it cleaned and pressed.”

Frankie suddenly realizes he’s standing there in only his underwear so he grabs the hanger from her hands and holds it against him, offering himself a small amount of modesty.

“Thank you, Kiki,” he mumbles, shutting the door quickly.

The service is beautiful but hot, sitting on the beach in the glaring afternoon sun. He didn’t think to bring any sunglasses, the hat that rarely leaves his head usually providing enough shade. It’s all he can do to focus on the bride and groom and shit, he thinks he’s gonna get a headache from squinting so much. He’s sitting next to his mother and notices she’s sniffling the whole time, getting misty-eyed at the sight of Elio marrying his love. She’s probably thinking about how she’ll never get to see her own son’s wedding since Frankie has spent the last decade finding new and exciting ways to blow up his whole life.

As the ceremony comes to a close he tells his mamá he’ll see her at dinner, and manages to duck away and get off the beach before the couple comes down the aisle and the crowd closes in. He feels a little bad sneaking away and being antisocial but he can’t handle the onslaught of well-wishers descending on the couple. He never does well in crowds like that anymore. 

He takes a walk down the beach during cocktail hour, setting an alarm on his watch with plans to head back to the reception building just as dinner starts. He’s taken off his dress shoes and socks, letting his feet sink into the wet sand where the waves just lick at them, cooling him off. He’s also enjoying the warm, salty breeze as it soothes the beads of sweat collected on his forehead. He hears a melodic sound travel across the sand. Holy shit, that sounds like your laugh. 

He looks around, seeing some couples obviously dressed up enough to be from a wedding, maybe the one he was at, maybe the one he saw set up further down the beach near his villa. He looks at their faces as they pass by him. None of them are you. He puts his hand to his forehead, shading his eyes to look behind him, towards the building where the reception will be. 

There’s a large wooden patio off the back of the white stucco building, sliding glass doors separating the outside from the inside. Bistro lights zig back and forth above the crowd of people already gathered there, drinks and small plates in hands, and floral arrangements cover every square inch of the railing, spilling over the sides and draping themselves towards the sand. He scans the faces in the crowd but between the distance and the brightness, it’s hard to see. 

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t see you among the crowd. But he wouldn’t, would he… because this is just his mind fucking with him. You’re not here, why would you be here, on Paradise Cay?

But shit, did that sound like your laugh.

---

The fit of giggles you would become lost in when a movie night went too late. You called them your 2am crazies and you’d laugh yourself hoarse, then beg him to let you stay the night. Even though he barely got any sleep those nights, too warm with you cuddled up against him in his small bed, he never denied you.

The screaming laughter you’d let out when he would start to rock the car of the ferris wheel at the top of the rotation. You’d tell him you were going to be brave when you got on the ride, sitting a fair distance from him, yet still gripping the safety bar as tight as possible. A couple rocks was all it would take for you to give up the pretense of courage and throw your arms around his middle, just like he wanted.

Your nervous laughter as you told him about the job offer you got. You told him how some of the girls at the call center were leaving for new jobs and then, days later, you finally told him what the job was.

“They’re gonna be making movies,” you admit.

“What kind of movies?” he asks, innocently, until you pin him with a look like he should already know what kind of movies your sex phone-line coworkers would be doing. “Like porn?”

“Yeah, kinda,” you tell him.

You told him there was a new website that was paying girls $20 for pictures or $500 for videos, and for a cut there was a guy who would photograph or record you and then upload them to the site. Frankie wants to ask how you could even think about making porn. He wants to ask if you know what they do to the girls in porn videos. He’s seen enough of them to know that you deserve to be treated better than they get treated. He wants to give you all the money in his bank account so you don’t have to do this to yourself, subject your body to this. 

You’re sitting across from him awaiting his response. You see the look he doesn’t even realize he’s wearing on his face and he watches your expression fall.

“You don't like it,” you mumble, looking absolutely dejected.

“No! I just-,” he’s fucking terrified for you. How are you not terrified? “I’m just… worried. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m not gonna get hurt, Pancho,” you grab his hand. Are you reassuring him right now?

You tell him that you don’t plan on making a video with another person just yet, that the $500 is for a solo video, just you and the cameraman, recording you touching yourself. You laugh again, nervous. It’s gonna be okay you keep telling him, maybe telling yourself too.

“A website?” he repeats.

“Yup,” you say, popping the p. “The world wide web.”

“I thought the web was just for downloading music and getting research materials from the library,” he half-jokes.

“It’s still gonna be all that... there’s just also gonna be naked pictures of me on it,” you laugh. Nervously.

Two weeks later on a Friday afternoon he picks you up and drives you to a small building in a not-great neighborhood on the north side of the city for your filming time. Your nervous laughter is back. You’re unusually quiet, and keep joking that you should have smoked or something to calm your nerves. He wondered before how you weren’t terrified and now he sees that you are, you’re just trying your best to appear brave. You can’t come in, you'd already told him. The photographer had explicitly explained to you that you could bring girlfriends but absolutely no boyfriends. 

“But, I’m not your boyfriend,” Frankie says as he holds your hand in the front seat, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The truck idles in the parking lot as rain drizzles down on the windshield. 

“I’m not sure they’re gonna make the distinction when you roll up there with those big, broad shoulders and these angry brown eyes.”

“My eyes are not angry,” he says in defense.

“Then what is this?” you tease as you poke at the wrinkle set between his furrowed brow.

He waits in the parking lot for an agonizing fifty four minutes, watching the rain clouds clear and the sun come out, before you come out of the building, eyes a little glassy and trembling slightly. He jumps out of the car and helps you into the passenger seat, driving you both to a taco bell and buying you meximelts until the color returns to your face. How was it? How do you feel? Are you okay? You tell him it was awkward but everything was fine, and show him the $500 cash you made.

It takes you almost a week to admit that the cameraman gave you a pill he said would calm your nerves and it made you feel funny the rest of the day. He almost jumps out of his skin but you assure him that nothing happened and that you can take care of yourself. You also promise him you don’t plan on taking any more pills from strangers.

You get asked to do another video. You’d make $850 this time, recording a video with a guy named Rock Hardson. Frankie groans but tries not to let his jealousy come out. He’s not your boyfriend. You don’t belong to him. You weren’t a virgin when you met him and you have every right to use your body to make yourself some much-needed money.

It goes like that for a few more months, him driving you to the little building with the dirty parking lot every 3-4 weeks, waiting outside while you go in and make your money, then taking you to eat afterwards. Always asking if you’re okay, if you feel alright, if they treated you well.

Spring break comes around in early April and you have enough money to go on a trip with a couple of your high school girlfriends and their boyfriends to Miami. You shyly ask if Frankie will come with you even though he’s not your boyfriend so you don’t have to feel like a fifth wheel. He almost bites his tongue off with how quickly he says yes.

He holds your hand the whole flight, talking you out of a panic attack during takeoff, just now realizing how terrified you are of flying. He’s never seen you this scared of anything. He wants to tease you but instead he distracts you by handing you his discman and letting you listen to your Celine Dion album for the short flight, hearing you humming the ubiquitous Titanic theme song. 

The week goes by too quickly, filled with salty, sunscreen-slathered afternoons on the beach and cigarette-infused, drunken nights in the club. Your last night there you finally convince him to dance with you, both of you too wasted to keep rhythm, clumsily bumping your bodies against each other for several songs. He feels your smooth skin under his hands, your fingers twisting in his hair. How badly he wanted to kiss you, his inebriated state almost granting him the courage.

You both fall into the bed you’d been sharing all week but tonight your friend in the bed next to you is drunk enough that she’s agreed to let her boyfriend have sex with her even with everyone else in the room. You and Frankie giggle to each other and you hear laughter coming from the fold-out couch on your other side, where your other friend lies with her boyfriend. 

Then, you both hear those laughs turn to breathy moans as well. You lie face up next to each other in the bed, smack in the middle of the two fornicating couples, the tension and awkwardness growing. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been making his dick so hard it hurt. He was so scared you were going to see the tented sheets over his erection and be appalled by his behavior. He’s supposed to just be your friend. A friend doesn’t get a hard-on laying in bed next to his friend.

You grab his hand and he almost jumps out of the bed. His head is spinning, both because of the alcohol and the situation unfolding. He thinks you’re looking at him, he thinks he can see it out of the corner of his eye, but he can’t look at you. He’s afraid of what he might see on your face, just as afraid he might see your friend on the bed next to you getting railed by her boyfriend. The room is filled with the sounds of sex; low grunts and the slap of skin on skin. 

“I bet you’re used to this,” he whispers, trying to ease the tension with a joke.

You let go of his hand.

His stomach sinks. Maybe he shouldn’t have-

“I’m too fucked up for this shit,” you mutter, rolling over and going to sleep.

When you get back from Miami you tell him that you’re going to quit, your school bill is paid off and you don’t want to make any more videos, and he won’t have to drive you anymore. For a few days he’s worried that he fucked up so badly on vacation that your friendship has changed, but when you call him for laundry day on Sunday everything seems fine, your friendship seems like how it used to be. 

---

His watch beeps, letting him know he’s been reminiscing for over an hour and it’s time for him to get back for dinner. He puts his shoes back on and makes it to his table just as a glass is being clinked for the champagne toast. He looks at the table setting in front of him and sees a small bottle of sparkling water next to an empty champagne flute. His mother must have made sure that was done for him. She’s so thoughtful. He’s lucky to have her, even after all the ways he’s disappointed her, still by his side rooting for his sobriety. 

Although if he’s being honest, he could really use some champagne right about now. All this sappy love bullshit is making it feel like a fist is clenching around his heart. He’s happy for Elio, of course, but goddamnit is he fuckin’ lonely. He’s not sure if the near-constant thoughts of you are a cause of or a product of his loneliness. It doesn’t really matter either way, the end result is the same. He’s here and you’re not.

After a delicious meal, he’d gotten the crab-stuffed-fish, his mother leaves the table to dance with two of his aunts, encouraging him to find someone to dance with as she goes, pointing around the room. He doesn't even look up as he says “I can’t dance, mamá .”

He’s immediately wrapped up in thoughts of you again.

---

You came to his graduation, standing next to him while his family snapped photos of the two of you, even stealing his mortarboard and putting it on your own head for a few pictures towards the end. He’d gotten his post-graduation assignment, he was going to a base in Germany, but first he’d be headed to Texas for six months of training. He was scheduled to leave in July, just after the holiday.

You spent the nine weeks of summer you had together alternating visiting the other. You’d borrow your mom’s minivan for the weekend and cross the state line to come to him. You’d spend your days together going to the mall, grabbing sbarro for lunch in the food court, and sneaking into the cine-plex. His friends from high school would let you in through a side door and you'd go between theaters, watching movies all afternoon, then help his mamá make dinner at night. He'd give you his bed and go sleep on the futon in his abuela’s room. 

Alternately, he’d drive his worn-out Ranger to you, and you’d take him with you to watch your little brother’s baseball games, grabbing pretzels and a frozen yogurt at your mall afterwards. Your mother felt guilty making him sleep on the couch in her cramped apartment's small living room, so you easily convinced her to let him sleep on your bedroom floor.

You’d toss a pillow at him and he’d get comfortable under a blanket as your mom poked her head in to say goodnight. As soon as the lights were off and everyone was in bed you’d whisper for him to get up here, and he’d join you on your full-size mattress, holding you close. His mamá called you his girlfriend when she talked about you, but you’d still never even so much as kissed each other. You called him your best friend and that was enough for him. Getting to hold you and have you confide in him and be the person to make you smile was more than enough.

You spent your birthday in mid-June together, camping in the bed of his truck under the stars. You’d spent all day at the amusement park nearby, some of your friends joining you for the day. He’d held your hand on the roller coasters and let you feed him spoonfuls of dippin dots ice cream. He pressed his face against the top of your head as you both headed to the campsite in the evening, drained from a long day of walking, screaming, and being in the sun.

He lit a fire in the campsite’s ring and covered you in blankets where you perched on his tailgate, drinking cheap beer and ringing in your 20th year, roasting hot dogs and watching as the flames got lower and lower, until the fire was nothing more than glowing embers. You laid down under shared blankets to sleep, limbs tangled together for warmth, and scratched your fingers through his hair while you fell asleep. He knew then he was probably in love with you. But he wasn’t going to ruin your friendship by ever telling you that.

And then the day came that he was scheduled to get on a bus to leave for Texas. He kissed and hugged his mamá, shook hands with his pop, and then turned to you. You’d driven all night to be there for his 5am bus out of town, and your face was already streaked with tears. He pulled you close and you held him so tight, he doesn't know where he found the strength to let you go. Neither of you could bring yourselves to say the word goodbye and before his stinging eyes could spill tears over his waterline he pulled away. He felt you shove something in his pocket, sniffling as you wiped your face with your shirtsleeves.

He waited untill he got on the bus to slip what you’d snuck in there out of his pocket. He thought it was going to be a note but it was a CD. For my Pancho, you’d written on the disc in Sharpie. He knew he must look so dumb with the goofy grin he had plastered on his face. You’d made him a mix tape. He was so excited to listen to it that he fished his discman out of his bookbag and pressed the CD in. It spun up, read 00:00, and spun down. It wouldn’t play the music. He’d have to wait till he arrived on base and could put it into a better stereo.

Between the long drive, the haircuts, the room assignments, the introductions, one awkward phone call with you, and getting a ton of homework from his classes right away, he doesn’t get a chance to even think about the CD again until a week later. It doesn’t work again in his neighbor’s stereo, but he thinks maybe you put the music in a different format so you could fit more songs on the disc. He heads across the base to the technology lab on his next day off and his hunch is confirmed when the computer opens up the disc’s contents in a folder, revealing a video file. He double clicks the file and watches the monitor as it opens up in Windows Media Player.

A low resolution image comes across his screen and because he’s never seen it before, it takes him a moment to comprehend what he’s looking at. It’s you. You’re standing in front of the camera, a warm afternoon light spilling in from the window you must be facing, highlighting your face, shining on your dewy lips, your chin, your neck, your tits. Holy fuck you’re topless. He clicks pause and looks around, making sure no one else can see his screen, then presses play again. As the video continues the camera keeps panning out, and reveals you to be totally naked. 

Holy shit this must be one of your videos. You’d talked about them before of course, the two of you talked about everything. You’d told him things you liked, things you didn’t, even awkward things that would happen during filming. You’d never tried to show him one of your videos and he would never be bold enough to ask. He knew you’d shown a couple friends, overhearing you discussing it one time, but he didn’t want you to feel objectified, so he said nothing.

A group comes into the computer lab and sits down nearby, checking their email. He can't keep watching this in here. There’s a crowd and he’s already half-hard in his pants. As an officer he’s lucky enough to have his own small apartment on base, and he waits three more weeks, the CD burning a proverbial hole in his desk drawer, until he finally saves up enough money to go get his own computer from Circuit City. It takes all goddamn afternoon to set up the computer and install Windows and finally, just after sunset, the computer boots up and is ready to use. 

He slides the disc into his computer’s drive and watches for the first time, headphones on his ears to get the full experience. After the camera pans out to reveal your naked body you take a seat on the edge of the bed - he notices it’s your bed in your home bedroom - and the camera slowly pans back in as you lie down and slowly spread your legs. It remains a tight, but full-body still-shot for the rest of the video, recording you touching yourself to the tune of no less than three orgasms. Frankie can’t help himself and begins to touch himself too on your final peak.

Your breathy, panting moans, the way you pinch your nipples, the wet noises of your cunt, your fingers circling your clit, your cries as you fall over the crest each time; it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. He wants to immediately call you and talk about it but with his training schedule keeping him busy and your junior year keeping you busy, you’ve barely talked in the month he’s been gone. How can he call you now and talk about how he’s seen you naked and watched you getting yourself off? What is he supposed to say? Thank you? You guys used to talk to each other about everything, but does he tell you that he jerked off to you? Is that why you gave him this video? He doesn’t know how to proceed. Why would you give him this as he was leaving?

The two of you write some letters back and forth and you eventually connect for a phone call at Christmas break, right before he heads to his post, but you miss his long-distance call from the base in Germany on New Year’s Eve. The calls get fewer and further between but his views on that CD never falter. It’s been so long since he’s spoken to you, almost two decades now, but he watches your video all the time, counting the CD among his prized possessions. 

He’s not even ashamed to admit that he takes his cock in his hand nearly every time he watches and can time it so perfectly by now that he’s spilling his come over his hand just as you hit your third orgasm. Shit, he’s pretty sure the disc is in his laptop’s CD-drive right now. He brought his laptop, right? He feels himself start to harden in his pants. Maybe he can ditch out on this reception early and go back to his room to watch it. Even without any champagne, that would make it a good night. 

He feels a gentle tap on his shoulder.

[jxtina-86]

The Meet Cute

Roman thumbs through his phone, flicking from emails to social media to some dumb-ass game. He stifles a yawn, his gaze drifting across the airport lounge.

It's late, a handful of flights left to depart and the airport is slowly shutting down around him. His eyes fall back to his phone, his thumb hovering for a second before he taps the app icon.

There's a new message from the woman he'd matched with a few days ago. He ignores it, the chat so far has been dry. He needs to let her down gently, he can't risk just ghosting her, but he hasn't got the right words to tell her right now.

Instead, he starts to flick through the various profiles. He barely pauses on each one before swiping left. Again. Again. Again. He's not sure why he's doing this. He's out of here in less than 30 minutes. What's the point?

His thumb halts as he spots the distance on the next profile. 1 mile. He wonders if - he checks the name - Katherine is as bored as he is. He glances around but all he can see are guys in business casual.

He flicks through her photos - she's got the classics nailed, the hiking photo, a snap with a dog, a group of friends, in a bar holding a cocktail. But the last one, makes him stop. It's a black-and-white professional photo. She's leaning against a wall staring down the lens. Her long hair cascades over one shoulder, her arms crossed in front of her. Hooked on one finger is the arm of a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, dangling delicately.

Roman thumbs her profile - 28, writer.

You'll usually find me lounging in my favorite sweatpants, typing away on my laptop, and sipping on a cup of coffee that's probably gone cold by now. I'm all about keeping things low-key and having a good laugh along the way.

"Flight 968 to Tampa is now boarding at gate 4A."

He shuts the app without swiping either way.

The flight looks pretty empty judging by the minimal activity at the gate. As he hands over his boarding pass, the staff member does a double-take.

"My son's a huge fan," she tells him. "Would you mind...?"

Roman obliges, signing the blank boarding pass she hands him.

She taps on the computer. "Let me upgrade you, business is looking empty and I reckon you'd appreciate the extra leg-room."

"That's very kind of you," he tells her, chuckling as she blushes. "Thank you."

With his new boarding pass in hand, he makes his way down the gangway and onto the plane. Out of the 20 seats in business, only 9 are occupied. He checks his seat number - 4A.

As he steps forward he realises that 4B is occupied, a nest of dark hair just peeking above the seat but as he nears more of the occupant's face appears and he frowns as it seems strangely familiar.

"Sorry," he says he lifts his carry-on into the overhead locker. "I'm in the window-seat."

"No worries." She gathers her stuff - a laptop, notebook, pen - and stands to move into the aisle so he can get past. He catches her eye as he does. He knows her, but from where?

As they both settle back down, he gives her a sideways glance and then looks away so she can't see the look of realisation that suddenly dawns on him.

Shit.

Katherine tugs down the glasses from her hair as she opens her laptop back up. She can feel the stranger next to her looking but when she glances in his direction, he's staring out of the window, his baseball cap pulled down.

She inhales deeply, her mind switching back to her laptop but only briefly. Damn, this guy smells divine. The luxury of whatever he's wearing drifts over her. She's never been this lucky before, usually she's stuck next to an overbearing, sweaty businessman in a suit one size too small. This guy is in black sweats, the only sign of anything business like is his watch that gleams under the harsh cabin lighting.

"Champagne?" A member of cabin crew hovers over her, offering a glass. Katherine accepts.

"And for you, sir?"

Her seat-mate doesn't respond.

"Sir?"

"Hey," Katherine taps his arm softly.

"Huh?" Roman looks up. "Sorry, no. Actually, yeah why not."

He accepts the glass and takes a long drink.

She's pushed the glasses back up on top of her head, he notices. The loose sleeve of her sweatshirt slips back as she raises the champagne flute, revealing a delicate tattoo around her wrist.

She catches his eyes as she drinks and raises her other hand to her face. "Have I got something..."

"No, sorry, ignore me."

"Hard to when you keep staring at me."

"Shit," he exhales. "This is awkward."

"Less awkward than it already is," she replies and he wonders if that was a grimace or a smirk that dashes across her lips.

"I saw your profile. On Tinder."

There's a pause.

"You scroll Tinder in airports?" she raises an eyebrow.

"Clearly you do too, given it said you were less than a mile away."

She has the good grace to blush. "Touche..."

"Roman," he extends his hand.

"Katherine," she replies, letting his fingers curl over hers.

"I know," he chuckles and she rolls her eyes with a grin.

"So did you swipe right or left?"

Roman squirms slightly. "Neither. They called the gate."

"Good save."

"What do you write?"

Katherine's eyes narrow slightly. "You read my profile?"

"The first bit. Like I said, they called the gate."

"How far did you read?"

Roman frowns for a second. "Something about sweatpants, laptop and cold coffee."

"I write books. Novels."

"Anything I would know?"

Katherine laughs. "You don't strike me as someone who reads romance novels."

"Hey, don't judge a book by its cover," he winks. "But no, you're right. I don't."

"What do you read?"

Roman shrugs. "Not much. I don't get the time."

"What do you do?"

"Take a guess. I reckon that romance-novelist brain of yours can concoct a good backstory for me."

A slow smile spreads across Katherine's face. "You know what this is called? In my world that is?"

"Tell me."

"A meet cute."

----

A/N: Taking it back to the start. I'm writing these on the fly. It's almost 1am and I have to be up in 5 hours and I cannot get these two out of my head. If anyone has any requests (first date thoughts, spicy book scenes you want recreating between Katherine and Roman) send them my way. Photos of Roman making suggestive glances are also welcome.

[densi-mber]

The Squid and Dagger Returns

“To the second grand opening of The Squid and Dagger. May it be her last,” Deeks toasted, raising his glass above his head. Kensi stood next to him, and surrounding him in a semi-circle were their former team. Eric and Nell had even made the flight in to celebrate the occasion.

“Amen!” Nell called out, whistling loudly. Deeks grinned at her enthusiasm. They all drank, Sam pausing to sniff his first.

“Hey, that’s actually really good,” Eric commented in surprise. He took another drink, as if to double check.

Still looking mistrustful, Sam took a tiny sip, and nodded in reluctant approval. “It’s not bad.”

“Why on earth would the beer taste bad?” Kilbride wondered, looking bemused and slightly out of place in his three-piece suit.

“You’ve never heard the saga of Deeks and Callen’s microbrew ventures?” Rountree asked in surprise.

“No. And I’m beginning to think that’s a good thing.”

“It involved a series of increasingly terrible beer,” Nell explained. “Squid being a memorable one.”

“No, no the seaweed and salmon was definitely the worst,” Sam said firmly. “The flavor is ingrained in my brain.”

“Three years with this team, and I still fail to understand any of you,” Kilbride commented, downing the rest of his beer. “Which means I need something stronger.” He wandered off to the bar, muttering to himself.

“Nice to know some things don’t change,” Kensi said dryly.

The rest of them gravitated towards each other, forming a small group as they sipped at their drinks. Nell had somehow acquired a large red drink with a cocktail umbrella.

“You know, contrary to popular belief, Callen and I are capable of crafting normal beer—remembered the orange and nectarine?” Deeks said, nodding to Kensi. “We just choose not to.”

“I still maintain that none of our stuff was that bad,” Callen insisted. He frowned, holding up his glass, tilting his head to examine the light amber liquid inside. “Though this is kind of bland.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?” Sam said in exasperation. He gave Callen a slight shove towards the bar. “C’mon G, let’s go get you some more skunky beer.”

“Mmm, it almost feels like we never left,” Nell said, watching the two fondly bicker.

“It does. Especially with having the bar back,” Deeks agreed. “Speaking of which, I can’t thank you guys enough for helping buy it back.”

“It means a lot to us,” Kensi added, sliding her free arm through Deeks’.

“You’re welcome, but guys, I told you before, I literally would not be where I am without the money that you loaned me for years. Especially Deeks,” Eric replied. “I probably owe you about 10 bars at this point.”

“I think we’ll call it even with one.” She glances at Deeks and he nodded in agreement.

“We’ve got everything we need.”

“Ooh, speaking of needs,” Nell paused to take a healthy gulp of her drink, her Christmas themed had shifting precariously. “When do I get to see my nieces and nephews?”

“Well, I’m guessing the sitter already put the twins down for the night, but we’re free tomorrow. And I’m sure Rosa would love to see you when she’s done with classes,” Kensi replied.

“Awesome! That’ll give us time to get all their gifts together.” Eric nodded enthusiastically. “It’s amazing what they’re doing with kids toys these days.”

“I’m not sure I want to know.”

“He’s teasing, Deeks.” Nell rolled her eyes at Eric, lightly tapping his shoulder with the back of her hand. She giggled, adding in a couple pats lower down on his chest.

Beside him, Kensi hastily stifled a snort, and when Deeks glanced at her, she had her lips tightly pressed together.

“Oh, I love this song,” Nell announced, as the playlist running in the background switched to the next selection. “Mr. Beale, may I have this dance?” Bending at the waist, Nell waved her hand in an elaborate flourish.

“My lady awaits,” Eric said with a shrug as he let Nell tug him away.

“I missed this,” Kensi said wistfully.

“What, Callen and Sam arguing over beer and the Wonder Twins drunkenly dancing on our non-existent dance floor?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

Kensi swayed into his side, wrapping both arms around his waist. “I’m glad we have this back.”

He watched Nell and Eric put on a two-person act to “Santa Baby”, giggling the entire time, and couldn’t help but agree.

***

A/N: Once again bringing back the Squid and Dagger as well as Callen and Deeks making beer of dubious quality.

[writeyouin]

Could you do a swerve x dragon-shifter reader?

A/N – I probably won’t be posting a fic tomorrow, so Happy Halloween to everybody.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Swerve turned on the TV above his bar, fully absorbed by one of the latest shows from Earth, House of Dragons, though he would have gladly pointed out to anyone who would listen, the reptilian creatures on the show were actually Wyverns, not dragons, and so the show was somewhat misnamed.

He set about cleaning while the show played, his optics glued to the screen as he wiped down the countertops and performed various other duties. Finally, all that was left to do was to clean the glasses from the previous cycle, so they would be ready for the next slew of Energon cocktails.

Swerve grabbed a fresh cleaning rag and absent-mindedly reached under the bar for the first of many glasses, but he found nothing but empty air. Puzzled, Swerve was forced to tear his optics away from the TV, bending down to look for the glasses. To his surprise, every single one was gone as well as all the pitchers and any beakers he had.

Swerve threw his head back, laughing at the strangeness of the situation. He wasn’t worried, knowing full well where all his missing items were. Every so often, you, the ship’s only human would take a large collection of items. It seemed that you took whatever fascinated you, squirrelling the items in question to your room.

It had started with the ship’s datapads, which Skids had been employed to find. It didn’t take him long to crack the case, tracking the datapads’ collective signal to your hab-suite. When asked why you had taken them, you had made an odd comment about the datapads being a veritable trove of knowledge.

After that, you had stolen Rung’s collection of model ships, taking them back to your room where you carefully set them up in a circle around your bed. Then it had been Geode’s collection of rocks from other planets, which when found in your room, you had called precious jewels worth protecting.

Nobody knew why you hoarded other peoples’ items, but no one took offence at the odd behaviour since you always returned what you had taken when asked. Your quirk was accepted as just another one of those weird things that happened aboard the Lost Light, though as a psychiatrist Rung was determined to find the cause of your behaviour.

Now that you had taken Swerve’s glasses, he was practically giddy with excitement. It gave him a reason to visit you. You were his long-time crush whom he had admired from afar. Granted, he had never actually spoken to you, but now was his chance. It was no secret that Swerve was obsessed with humans and you were the first one that he would officially meet in person; it was exhilarating.

Leaving his bar, Swerve walked to your hab-suite, practicing what he would say when he saw you. He knocked eagerly on your door, wondering if he would get the chance to say everything that he wanted to. There was just so much to talk about, and he didn’t know where to start.

You opened the door, half-hiding behind it as you looked up at the mini-bot who was almost twice your size with large curious eyes.

“Hi (Y/N)!” Swerve greeted you loudly with an energetic wave. “It’s great to meet you, you know, in person! I’m like, a huge fan of yours. I mean, we kind of met in passing once, but we didn’t get to talk, and you were busy and, uh, well-”

“You’re Swerve,” You stated, interrupting him.

Swerve’s face-plates heated up and his cooling fans clicked on, whirring quietly.

“You know me?” He squeaked. 

You nodded passively.

“That’s- That’s so cool. It’s so great that you take interest in other people and pay attention, you know? Gosh, I have so much I want to say and-”

“Don’t you have to go and open your bar?”

“My bar?” Swerve blinked, having forgotten all about it in his excitement. “Oh yeah! That’s why I’m here actually. My glasses went missing and I’m just spit-balling here, but I think that you might have them?”

You eyed Swerve warily, overly aware that just like the others he was going to take your newest collection away. However, seeing as you had stolen them in the first place, you didn’t argue your case. Instead, you merely nodded and stepped aside, allowing Swerve entry into your room.

Swerve couldn’t help grinning when he saw all his glasses, beakers, and pitchers. They had been carefully placed in concentric circles around the room. Swerve moved slowly and deliberately, careful not to smash anything. As he looked around, he knew that he would have to get some crates to retrieve everything; he honestly couldn’t fathom how you had gotten everything to your room alone and unseen, but just like your previous heists, you had managed it.

Swerve looked down at you, his expression one of pure glee as he wondered why you had taken his glasses of all things.

“So, my glasses, huh?” He said pointedly, prompting you to explain. When you didn’t respond, he made his question more obvious, “Why these?”

To answer Swerve’s question, you dimmed the lights and then grabbed a torch and placed it on the floor in the corner of the room, turning it on. Its beam passed through the first glass refracting on the corners and splitting. The new light beams passed through several other glasses and so on and so forth until the whole room was filled with light. Thanks to the stains of different Energon cocktails, the light beams covered the walls and ceiling with magnificent splashes of colours.

“I love the way they light up,” You admitted, watching the patterns with a dreamy expression.

Swerve spun around in awe, and then he grimaced guiltily upon realising that he would have to take such beauty away from you if he was to open his bar.

“It’s okay,” You sighed. “You can take your things back now. There are some boxes in the storage cupboard next door.”

“Uh, great, thanks.” Swerve tried to smile but found it hard now that he was going to ruin all your hard work and the way you had turned something ugly and mundane into something beautiful and intricate.

A short while later Swerve had two boxes filled with everything you had taken from his bar. You sat cross-legged on the floor, quite used to losing what you had so carefully pillaged. Feeling bad for you, Swerve rifled through the top box, pulling out a single glass and holding it out for you.

“Here,” He proffered, “I know it’s not much, but you can keep this one.”

Your eyes lit up as you reached for the glass, “Really?”

“Sure,” Swerve chuckled, but instead of handing it to you, he placed it over the torch, turning it into a makeshift disco ball.

You spun around to admire the veritable kaleidoscope of colours.

“Thank you,” You smiled appreciatively at Swerve, whose spark thrummed in response.

 “No- No problem. Hey um… Can I visit you sometime?” He asked shyly.

You nodded enthusiastically, glad to have met someone who was trying to understand you.

“Great, then I’ll see you later,” Swerve grinned, picking up the boxes and taking his leave. However, when he returned to his bar, he decided not to open it for the night. Instead, he sat alone in a booth, placed a torch upright on a table, and set a glass over it. Then, resting his head on his forearms, he stared at the surrounding lights and sighed dreamily, his processor clouded with thoughts of you.

The next day, Swerve visited you as promised. He also came back the following day, and the one after that, and again after that. Soon, he was visiting you every day, completely besotted with you. He worried that you might grow bored of his company or sense his desperation for something more, but you never once sent him away, seemingly enjoying his company as much as he enjoyed yours.

One night, Swerve heard that the ship might soon be docking on a nearby planet to stock up on supplies. Unable to wait till the morning, he rushed to find you. However, in his excitement, he forgot his usual good manners and without knocking, he let himself into your room.

Once inside, all excitement was forgotten as Swerve stood dumbfounded, trying to process the monster with which he now stood face to face. In shock, his processor fed him bite-sized scraps of information as he attempted to grasp what he was seeing.

Slitted eyes that gleamed bright green.

Scales that glittered, protecting a rough hide.

Pointed spines ran along the creature's back.

Fangs so sharp that they could likely penetrate even Cybertronian metal.

“Dragon,” Swerve squeaked as the pieces came together in his mind.

Then, as he came to his senses, Swerve’s optics swept across the room, seeking you out.

“(Y/N)!” He cried, fearing the worst.

Stuck with the dragon, Swerve knew that he couldn’t properly search for you until it had been captured or killed. Fortunately, the beast hadn’t attacked yet and if Swerve could only make it the few steps back to the doorway, then he would be able to press the alarm to call for backup. Any other bot might have tried using their private comms for help but, unpopular as Swerve was, he knew that most bots would ignore his communication signal, and Rung, the only bot who might listen was incapacitated in the medical bay.

Swerve carefully took one step back, fear clutching at his spark as he dared another. Before he could retreat any further, the dragon lunged forward, moving faster than lightning and with all the grace of the wind. It half-scampered up the wall and before Swerve could take even one more step back, it was behind him, blocking the exit and the alarm.

Swerve stumbled back, horrified. He shook his head and forced himself to get back up, his mind solely on you and where you might be.

Infuriated, he yelled at the beast, “I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU! WHAT DID YOU DO WITH (Y/N), YOU WALKING SLAG PILE!”

The dragon’s sternum heaved in response as it released a low rumbling growl. The growl wasn’t an unfriendly sound. It was more like a mournful song of a creature that didn’t wish to fight or be fought. Upon hearing such a sound, Swerve forced himself to reassess the situation. He glanced behind him, noticing for the first time that there was yet another one of your collections; this time it was a large stack of curly straws stolen from “Visages.”

Swerve looked back at the dragon, daring to voice a concerned query, no matter how little sense it made.

“(Y/N)?”

The dragon stared at him glumly, and before his very optics, it started to shrink. The spikes that once lined its back retreated into its skin. Its wings melted away into nothingness. The fangs rounded off into small teeth as the once elongated snout retreated into its face, and slowly the dragon was no longer that, but the only resident human aboard the Lost Light.

“(Y/N)…” Swerve repeated your name, perplexed by the transformation.

“Don’t tell anyone,” You pleaded, looking him in the eye.

“…I don’t get it,” Swerve stated, dazed by what he had seen.

“What’s to get? I can turn into a dragon as easily as you can turn into a car.”

“But- But Cybertronians are meant to transform. We have T-Cogs. It’s what we are. You’re a human.”

“Which is exactly why you can’t tell anyone,” You reiterated. “They wouldn’t understand and I don’t want to be a part of any weird experiments.”

“What? (Y/N), the bots here wouldn’t do anything to you.”

“Really?” You said drily. “You can speak for all of them?”

Swerve faltered, “Well no… Not all of them.”

“So, you’ll keep my secret then?”

If you had asked it of him, Swerve would have walked to the ends of Cybertron for you. He would have claimed uncharted planets in your name, brought you the finest gifts, and found the lost city of Atlantis; in short, he would have done anything you asked of him, and keeping your secret was no different.

“Okay,” He promised.

“Thank you,” You breathed, relieved.

“No problem,” Swerve replied, then after a minute of silence, he couldn’t contain himself any longer and he began his usual hyperactive babbling.

“So, you’re like a real-life dragon? Do you have to eat more than other humans do? Are there more of you? Can you fly? I mean, you have wings, but are they only for gliding? Can you breathe fire? Wait… Is this why you hoard things?”

You smiled shyly at his inquiry, finding no admonishment in his tone.

“I can’t help it,” You admitted sheepishly. “I just see things and I can’t resist taking them.”

“But you always give them back,” Swerve pointed out, curiously.

“I’m not a thief, Swerve… I just need to collect things sometimes.”

“Okay, but why those things? They had nothing in common with each other.”

“Sometimes I collect what I personally value, but other times, it’s just what my inner-dragon thinks is pretty.”

Swerve thought back to the things you had taken in the past. The datapads and ships had to be your human side since you had a fascination with knowledge and intergalactic travel. The gems and glasses however were sure to be your draconic side, pretty for a little while until their charm had worn off. It seemed that your personality was multi-faceted, with one side animalistic and wild, and the other intelligent and sensitive.

With his most burning question answered, Swerve returned to his earlier questions, hardly able to wait for one answer before he asked something else.

Having relinquished your recent collection of curly straws back to Mirage, you found yourself hungering for something new to hoard in your draconic state.

Curled in on yourself, you closed your eyes lazily, your thoughts drifting to things that were pretty or interesting. Usually, you would spend days pondering the matter, but that night, there was only one thing you wanted, your human and dragon minds in full agreement over what it should be for once.

Moving silently to the door, you lowered your snout, inhaling deeply so you would smell any bots that might have been lingering in the hallway. Your superior senses painted a clear picture allowing you to scent all the way from your hab-suite to your goal, providing you with a clear path where nobody would see you.

Moving faster than the wind of a storm, you sped through the ship’s corridors, hastily switching directions if you sensed the sudden appearance of any Cybertronians. It didn’t take you long to reach your destination. You slunk silently into the room, eyeing your prize through slitted pupils.

For the first time, you had found a treasure that you didn’t intend to return, but instead of spiriting it away to your hab-suite, you decided to settle in with it for the night.

Curling around Swerve’s berth, you rested your head lightly atop his chassis, eliciting a satisfied rumble from your throat.

Swerve blearily opened his eyes, gasping in shock when he found himself holding you against his chassis. Having been asleep, you had unwittingly reverted into your human form, safe in Swerve’s hold.

“(Y/N)?” He whispered, sure that he was dreaming.

At the sound of your name, you stirred from your light slumber, tiredly pushing yourself up onto your forearms to look at Swerve.

Smiling sleepily, you pressed a kiss to Swerve’s lips. Swerve froze at the unexpected contact, too afraid to do anything.

Upon breaking the kiss, you snuggled back down against Swerve’s chassis, mumbling, “Go back to sleep treasure, it’s too early.”

Mechanically, Swerve placed his arms around you, the newest addition to your hoard.

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[power464646]

So I guess I promised some friends a breakdown of the PMMM trailer

I think I should kick this off by saying I'm really writing this so I have a fast way of dropping all my hypothesising into a chat in one go. If you're not someone who knows me, I mean I guess you can read on anyway but like... don't expect these notes to be super coherent if you're not familiar with my arcane manner of diction. I'm only warning you, dear reader, because I love you.

Ok that got kind of weird. Let's start at the only place it really makes sense to.

Part 1: What on Earth actually happened at the end of Rebellion?

I see a lot of people who are confused about what exactly the final act of Rebellion implies. I see one of these people every time I look into a mirror. Still, let's try breaking it down.

So Homura, having broken out of the isolation field, is suddenly free to reunite with her girlfriend who is probably literally heaven. You almost can't tell that this anime is influenced a lot by nineteenth century theatre.

So that's all well and good, until Homura grabs Madoka's wrists and does... something.

What the hell's happening here?

...actually, the concept movie of all things does clarify a little, which someone's been kind enough to upload to Youtube with subtitles.

Now, you may be wondering: "The concept movie? Is that even still on the cards? I thought it was just a bunch of concept art and short animations." Or maybe you're thinking, "What the fuck is the concept movie?" And look, the thing is we're going to get to that.

Fuck me sideways this is going to be a long post.

So it appears Homura has somehow removed Madoka from the Law of Cycles - this is reinforced in Rebellion a few scenes later when she suggests as much to Sayaka, who she theorises was pulled back to Earth alongside Madoka (and Nagisa). But what's interesting about the concept movie is the implication that somehow there now exists a Madoka in heaven AND a Madoka on Earth.

Immediately after she does the Mysterious Thing, Homura's labyrinth grows to encompass the entire universe. Homura then bites down upon, and shatters, her own soul gem - and on a side note, Rebellion has surrounded her with the imagery of E.T.A. Hoffman's The Nutcracker and the Mouse King, in which biting through and swallowing the legendary nut Krakatuk is the only way to break the curse of the Mouse Queen. In biting through her own soul gem, Homura is presumably no longer cursed, whatever that means. This probably has something to do with her speech about having risen above hope and curses, and now having mind-melded with the gay allegations. The rumour come out, and it conquer the universe. Is she immortal now? Resistant to being cursed? Who knows?

Following this, she gets some crazy kind of power up, which largely seems to involve wearing a hideous cocktail dress. Conspicuously absent in the extremely low cut of the dress is her heart surgery scar.

What?

Like, we know she's had heart surgery. This is one of the first facts we learn about her. Have you ever seen the scars from heart surgery? They're huge! So where is it? It's almost like the writer is a hack fraud who keeps forgetting that his own protagonist is severely disabled. But come on, there's no way that's the case, right?

Um.

So moving on, it's now the Incubator's turn to bear the world's suffering in the stead of magical girls. I... don't think it's super clear what this means?

"To handle all the curses that have spread around our world, you Incubators are now necessary for us. So you'll be staying to help, Incubator."

From the looks of the little dude in the ending scene, though, I'd not be too shocked if he was out of commission for a while.

I could talk about the school hallway scene but I know you himedanshi fucks know that like the back of your hand. Instead I'm going to talk about

Alright this image isn't really doing me any favours straight after I say I'm not going to talk about yuri. But bear with me here.

Homura appears to be capable of completely wiping Sayaka's memory by simply clapping her hands - which is all well and good, as spinoff material (especially Wraith Arc- aww nuts, I'm going to have to talk about Wraith Arc too now) states that memory manipulation is her power in the post-episode-12 universe.

Meanwhile, in her own labyrinth in Rebellion, Homura seems to be able to stop time just fine. Could it be that now that her labyrinth is the new universe, she has access to both powers? Well, she disappears instantly after wiping Sayaka's memory, so it could be the case.

What if she starts manipulating the memories of other people too...?

I'd like to briefly bring up another moment from Wraith Arc, where Homura expresses frustration with being able to remember a world nobody else can, and how it makes her own account of the past harder to believe. If she starts clearing the past from the memories of everyone around her...

...would she have a hard time remembering it, too?

Part 2: So I basically watched the new trailer frame by frame like some kind of nerd

Here's some shit I noticed.

We open on this smug jerk who looks a lot like Homura but is smiling way too much. At first I presumed she was some new girl who looks a lot like Homura and that's as far as the connection goes, plus she has a telephone that fucking sucks. I thought this because she also appears on the movie poster, which also has a phone that sucks.

Look at that thing. What the hell.

But then I noticed:

The lounge she's sitting on is in the shape of a lizard, and

The red energy from which she conjures her phone is also a lizard.

I don't know if you've noticed, but lizards are kind of Homura's thing now. See the epithet she gives herself in the screencaps of the concept movie above. If you're still not convinced, go back through Rebellion, and count the number of times a weird squiggly lizard shows up in association with Homura. I count at least three. Here's one on her new not-soul-gem:

So, alright. What we have here is some kind of mysterious doppelgänger fooling about, maybe. A product of Homura's soul absorbing the universe? Potentially. We've seen a fair share of doppelgängers in her soul gem, of varying degrees of dubiousness:

Another doesn't seem too far-fetched, even if she does appear prominently enough in this promotional material to imply she could be her own character.

Not sure I trust her dress sense, though. Those frills look a little familiar.

The rest of this section of the trailer appears to be Madoka and this smiling Homura finishing each other's sentences, which is also how the concept movie opened. Is Madoka being puppeteered about? Is she under some kind of spell? Is there also some dubious other-Madoka and she and other-Homura are doing some Wario and Waluigi shit? I don't know. I don't know.

We immediately get a montage of Walpurgisnacht and Homura in black and white, using archival footage from the TV series and Rebellion. It ends with a gradually increasing focus on some kind of freaky eye motif:

It feels like it bears mentioning a similar focus on a singular freaky eye in the concept movie:

Could this have any sort of relationship to the giant eye at the end of the Magia ED?

fucking i dont know this is all guesswork

After the montage, we're introduced to this figure. Who are they?

I think we can only guess. Probably Madoka, since other main characters have been getting new outfits, and if I may yet again refer to the concept movie, this wouldn't be our first look at Madoka in a darker outfit than normal:

But it still looks pretty different. In fact, it seems to incorporate elements of Homura's and Mami's older outfits.

now the rational hypothesis is shes finally hit her growth spurt and is getting everyones hand me downs,

Next we get to what I think is the single most interesting shot in the whole trailer:

Some figure (maybe the figure in the last shot, maybe Madoka, maybe they're the same person) becomes absorbed by what I've taken to calling the "Legendary Beast Wraith" (LBW), which doesn't really fit the bill of what wraiths look like at all. The electronic text seems pretty par for the course, as the more powerful a wraith gets, the more its physiology assumes the form of primitive, abstract shapes. From Wraith Arc:

The concept movie corroborates this explicitly by having Oktavia fight a Satori wraith.

But the gratuitous German and the gnashing teeth don't seem to fit with a wraith's M.O. at all. whatever LBW has going on seems far more up a witch's alley.

There's...

There's precedent for this.

The premise of Wraith Arc, for the uninitiated, is that wraiths are wary of the power of emotions, positive or negative, and that while they're not lethal like witches, they do incapacitate people by stealing their emotions and processing them into grief cubes.

A powerful group of wraiths stole Homura's emotions this way, but found themselves incapable of properly processing her feelings, and instead began taking on the likenesses of people she knew. One particularly powerful wraith, which had taken the bulk of her emotional energy, began to mutate and take on the qualities of Kriemhild Gretchen. It became known as the spindle witch.

Don't ask too many tricky questions about this. Nobody understands Wraith Arc's final chapter, and it's not good. All I'm saying is there's precedent for wraiths with witch qualities.

But witch whic-

But whitch-

But which... witch... has LBW taken on qualities from, if this is the case?

Well, I'd like to bring to your attention four points.

The text in the latter of the screenshots of Leg Before Wicket's miasma reads "who" (I can't read Japanese, I'm just the messenger here) which feels like it's teasing the wraith's identity.

Walpurgisnacht is conspicuously absent in the second half of a trailer of a movie named after her.

Lower Body Workout's first initial stands for "Legendary", so it might be safe to presume we're looking after a monster of great renown.

That monochrome montage from earlier put forward a name that might fit the bill:

If witches don't exist in the new world, wraith!Walpy seems about as plausible as anything else.

It also bears mentioning that whoever this is jumping into it appears to have left their shoes on the ledge they're jumping from. I doubt they expect to survive whatever's happening to them in this shot.

Bear with me. It looks like the eggheads at Tumblr are telling me to pack this in at thirty images. I'm going to have to make a second part to this.

[hungrydolphin91]

BIG update this time for Xillia 2 Sister Addition, we've had several long sessions I wasn't writing down but I'll try to share what I can remember 😅

My sister pointed out the symbolism in the Frere apartment naming and I had a :o moment because I keep forgetting that French is a language 😅

Gaius joined in the second half of the chapter and I've been playing as him a bit, he's fun but a little tricky. It's amusing that his partner skill is to defend you, imagine having the king of Rieze Maxia as your bodyguard 😅

We explored the Mon Highlands and those icy caves nearby and for some reason they're chock full of French toast??

And also Hazardous Liquid. Sis: "That's the secret ingredient to their French toast."

We got the knock off Bunnykins in Elize's chapter and both agreed it seems like the kind of thing a shady merchant like Alvin would sell 😂

There's a bit of a gap here because I actually let my sister play without me while I was... otherwise occupied (*coughplayingpersona 4cough*) so I missed another one of Alvin's chapters (Sis: "Him and Yurgen broke up"), and she also started chapter 9:

Me: "So what'd I miss?" Sis: "We're in the square dimension and there's a voice." Took me a couple second to process that one 😂 but I actually like this chapter quite a bit, the stuff with the Arc is fascinating even though it never gets mentioned again 😅

The battle music changed to be Milla's and it's a bop, probably a nod to Fractured Milla before she goes away 😔

A cat found us shamisens while we were in the Ark and my sister equipped them to the whole party. Me: "The rest of the party is going to wonder what the heck happened in this fractured dimension that made us form a band 😂"

The music in the Ark is so soothing, and it has those fun statues that play music from other Tales games so I got to flex my knowledge there a bit 😌

The sentient guardian Waymarker thing wants to turn everyone into digital data. I spent the whole battle trying to come up with a pun based on file types and the name "Elle" but all I came up with was "HTM-Elle," someone let me know if you have a better one 😅

I've been sprinkling in some reminders of the overall lore, like the fact that Julius took Ludger's pocket watch for a while and that Elle's father apparently had one and that the ability to travel between dimensions is a Kresnik thing. She speculated if maybe Ludger was Elle's dad in another dimension... 🤫

My sister loves to play dress up every half hour, here's a screenshot of Ludger so you can know my pain:

Whenever I play Milla, Jude just stands there and shouts "I've got your back!" without doing anything. When I switched to Jude though, Milla jumped right in front of him while I was trying to hit an enemy. Sis: "See, you've got her back, literally!"

I didnt realize there was a skill that pets Milla cast in midair but that's incredibly fun to abuse, I feel like Muzet casting death spells from above 😂

We keep laughing at how Fractured Milla shouts "HEY!" every time she levels up. Sis: "She sounds like she's trying to keep kids off her lawn."

Since I'm not playing Ludger I've been able to enjoy some link artes I never saw, including one where Rowen and Gaius ride a paper airplane together 😂

And since my sister IS playing Ludger I get to get startled everytime she uses Hammer Toss in my vicinity. Me: "Would you stop throwing malatov cocktails around?!"

Both of us were wondering what the others see whenever Ludger uses the Chromatus. It seems like he's kinda freezing time, so he and the enemy would suddenly appear somewhere else whenever time resumes, or just be gone if he beat them all. Imagine blinking and a giant monster is suddenly dead 😅

I forgot how so much important lore is shoved into confusing and not fully explained side quests, like everything with Marvin and Claudia 😓 I wasn't sure how to explain all that to my sister without spoilers but at some point I'll try to fill her in based on my own fuzzy knowledge

Speaking of which theres a sidequest with a guy named Aaron who apparently has beef with Ludger and was all "Don't expect me to forgive you for this," and we were all "??? Who are you again???"

After seeing the skit where Nova complains about Vera's shyness, my sister wanted to ship her with Ludger simply to watch them both squirm in silence 😂

That's the gist of the most recent stuff, though I'm probably forgetting some things. We're in Fenmont currently starting Muzet's chapter but after that is the final waymarker, that's gonna be fun to see 😏

Masterpost link here

[akumeoy]

read your blog post about "weighted ratings" and been thinking about alternative statistics that could be done to paint other cocktails of ways to semi-statistically compare SCP wiki articles. for example some years ago I wrote an exceedingly mediocre tale currently sitting under +10, which is in the negatives in your weighted analysis for obvious reasons (it isnt any good). but the article doesn't have very many votes on it at all because very few have read it. where as some articles with a lot of votes got into the hundreds of negatives in your weighted rating (despite like objectively being better). and when I thought about this I remembered that one of your crackpot opinions about the SCP wiki from a while ago was that articles under +10 (or was it higher? don't remember) should be deleted after a few months because if they weren't high enough quality to get above +10, they shouldn't be on the site. which made me think - yeah, more people have upvoted that crappy tale I made than downvoted it, but it simply just does not have many votes. so i wonder if scaling the weighted ratings by total number of votes (up and down) in some way would produce interesting results. but of course that would be a less "pure" analysis since it's introducing multiple methodologies to produce more of a "barbecue sauce" model that doesn't really count much as statistics anymore. and at that point probably it's too much and the ratings may as well be assigned arbitrarily, complicated formulas are usually not good ones anyway there's my ramble, i forgot why I wanted to tell you all this I should just shut up more often

thanks for sharing! i had to puzzle over this a bit to try and determine what you're asking about, but i think i got it. you want to know how the numbers look when you consider that some articles have fewer votes in total. this makes sense -- an article with a -15.3 weighted rating after 50 people vote on is noticeably worse-off than a -15.3 article with 500 votes. so i scaled everything's weighted votes down by the total number of votes the article got, and here's what it looks like all in one place:

we see the vast bulk of pages have a scaled+weighted rating from -0.2 to +0.05; a lot of articles whose weighted ratings stand out (either positively or negatively) end up here. on the left, it curves gradually downward to -0.5, past which it trickles off into a few outliers that aren't worth discussing. on the right, the curve is much shorter and much more abrupt:

in my original essay, i spotted this phenomenon and tried to visualize it by picking a line and choosing everything that went above it, and the list i got from that lines up pretty nicely with what shows up at the tail of this distribution.

i think you are right, though, to be skeptical of the validity of trying to control for visibility in an analysis like this. the raw number of votes a page has is, to some degree, dependent on its quality, so we do lose some power when we take that out of our analysis.

anyways it's 4:30 in the morning so i'm just gonna leave it here for tonight. if you meant something else besides what i read into it, well, i did my best.

[princessmisery666]

Rock, Paper, Scissors

Summary: Sam loses a game with Dean but ultimately wins.

Warnings: fluff, hint of jealous Sam. 

W/C: 822

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, reader. 

Pairing: Sam Winchester x You (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Request: @deanwinchestersgirl87 put this post out and it inspired this - hope it’s what you had in mind. 

Betas: @writercole // @cockslutpadalecki // all mistakes remain my own.

Graphics: pic found on google, title card made by me. Gif link as had to download Dividers: @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: Main // Supernatural

Rock, Paper, Scissors

It’s rare Dean won a game of rock, paper, scissors against Sam. He always went scissors and the one time Sam was hopeful that it was a sure thing, he switched it up. Sam slammed down a rock, and Dean slapped down paper. 

“Sorry, Sam,” you sighed, actually sounding disappointed, “looks like Dean is my date for the evening.”

He’d watched you walk into your adjacent motel room and felt the same disappointment he hoped he saw in your demeanor. 

“Dude,” Sam called, jogging after Dean into their room, “Don’t flirt with her tonight!”

Dean chuckled and turned to face his brother, the triumphant smile still plastered to his lips. “How can I pretend to be her boyfriend and not flirt with her?”

“You know what I mean,” sighed Sam, “don’t take it too far.” 

“You could just swap places with me?” Dean suggested. 

Sam shook his head quickly. “No way. Then she’d ask why we swapped.”

“Here’s a crazy idea,” Dean started, imitating a brain explosion, “and I'm just spitballing here, you could just nut up and tell her you like her.”

“Shut up, go take a shower.”

Leaning on the trunk of the Impala, Sam checked his phone, reading Dean’s text again, “Wait in the alley, we’ll be twenty minutes.” It had been thirty minutes and neither of you had emerged from the club.

He tried calling Dean’s cell. Voicemail. He tried your cell, same result. He had a mental flash of the two of you huddled up in a corner booth, your leg draped over Dean’s lap while he kissed you and his hands roamed places Sam wished his hands could explore.

He tried your cell one last time, deciding if he got no answer he’d find a way to get inside. Just as your voicemail picked up the call, he heard the door open. He spun round, hair swishing with the swift movement and his jaw hit the floor.

You looked left, searching for him and then right, giving him a shy smile before turning to close the door gently. Sam took the time to admire you. The simple black dress looked as if it was made specifically for you. It hugged your figure in all the right places. It was a sexy but tasteful length, an inch above your knee, and the curve of your ass was perfect. You held his gaze as you walked toward him and he lost his breath. Your make-up was subtle but highlighted your best features, and he cursed a breathy, “Holy shit.” 

“Something wrong?”

“Yes,” he said instinctively, before thinking it through. The only thing wrong was that you’d spent the night with Dean, looking like a Goddess worthy of a magazine cover. “No! No, everything’s fine. Um, you look, wow, you look amazing.” 

You tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear and smiled, “Thank you.”

“Really, Y/N,” he said, rushing to open the passenger door of the Impala. He waited until you stood in front of him again, gazing down at you, softly he said, “You’re beautiful.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Winchester,” you replied, rising to the tips of your toes and he reflexively leaned down so you could reach to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Heat flooded his whole body and he felt it color his cheeks as you dropped back down, eyes locked together. Time seemed to slow as he stared at you, unable to look away. He wet his lips, the desire to kiss you was encompassing. He wondered what your tongue tasted like, probably sweet with a tang of sour, as you had a preference for fruity cocktails washed down with a shot of tequila. He pondered your other flavors and how they’d taste mixed with his own.

“Sam,” you whispered.

“Huh.” You pointed toward the car and he realized he was in your path.

He took a half step out of your way, but changed his mind and blocked the door again. “Wait,” he said, shaking his head to rid himself of the sordid thoughts, “Where’s Dean?”

You laughed at his memory lapse. “He picked up a chick, proving his theory that women are more interested when guys appear unavailable,” you explained, with a slight shrug. You stepped closer to him, tilting your head up to keep eye contact. “He’ll be gone all night. So we can do whatever it is you were just thinking about.”

“W-what?” he stuttered, trying his best to appear innocent and confused.

“Or,” you drawled, with a teasing smirk, “I can go back into the bar and find someone else to take this dress off.”

You waited a half second, your words settling in the breath of space between you, taking a small step back. 

“Wait,” demanded Sam, quickly grabbing your wrist before you could take a second step.

“What am I waiting for?”

“This,” he said, and dipped to press his lips to yours.

Master Lists: Main // Supernatural

[dulcidyne]

Tag Game

Tagged by the wonderful @whiskynorocks and @misseffect ! Tagging @dispatchwithlove @kirschewine @diaphanouso @kalliesa @highwayphantoms @drhu0806 @ninanirina and any mutuals/anyone else who might be interested, I’d love to read more of these!

Rules: Share 10 facts about yourself!

1. I was an absolute hellion of a child who threw such terrible tantrums, I broke bones in my feet (which never healed right) and now have what my partner fondly calls ‘a wonky stub toe’

2. During my first week of grad school in Connecticut, I almost died from an asthma attack (which ranks as only mildly less traumatic than the general experience of living in Connecticut)

3. My mother doesn't know I've been married for 2 years

4. Without fail, I'm probably already late for something

5. I grew up extremely religious and repressed to the point where I was obsessed with the Scarlet Letter in high school. Now I write alien smut for strangers on the internet, so we’ve come a long way baby!

6. Spending most of my childhood in Vegas means I have a nostalgic attachment to the smell of stale cigarette smoke

7. I was expelled from high school 1 month before graduation for attendance issues but was already accepted to university with a full-ride scholarship and had completed my graduation requirements with my AP/honors courses so it…didn’t matter?? I ended up graduating from one of those underfunded public reform schools for troubled teens

8. My pandemic hobby was making cake and fancy cocktails every Saturday night

9. I was put in a group home in middle school and then spent all of high school bouncing between my friends’ and grandparents’ homes (the not telling my mom about being married bit is starting to make sense now huh?)

10. I just bought a 97-year-old house and I'd rank the experience just above the Connecticut asthma attack in terms of anxiety

Edit: Oh shit, I forgot the best one, bonus fact! (Can’t figure out what to cut so just adding it on)

11. I grew up next door to a nudist colony for 8 years.

[angelsleepinggurl]

𝐒𝟏:𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟏𝟎 | 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓: 𝘕𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪 𝘒𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

The soft, golden glow of lights above cast a warm ambience over the bar, creating a comforting retreat from the world outside. The air was filled with the soothing hum of chatter, clinking glasses, and the distant murmur of laughter. You're sitting on a worn leather stool, his hands slowly moving round and around repeatedly with the straw in your hand, eyes fixed on the door. Your eyes dart to your phone every two seconds, wondering if Annalise and Darios just forgot. You shiver slightly as another chilling breeze crawls up your bare legs, your denim skirt riding up your legs yet again. Annalise saw an opportunity for the three of you to get to know each other better. So here you were, a late Thursday night patiently waiting for them to arrive.

"Hey girl sorry we're late." You hear a familiar voice approaching you. The two friends had made it, 20 minutes late. Annalise pulls you in for a warm hug, her scent, a blend of warmth and freshness, mixing with the bar's fragrance of aged oak and various cocktails enters your nose. Not far behind, Darios saunters in, a leather jacket loosely sitting on his shoulders, his hair dishevelled from the wind. He pulls you in for a welcoming hug as well, the three of you now properly introduced.

"I don't know about you guys but I am in desperate need for a drink." Annalise states before leading the way and walking towards a booth which we all follow. The low, sultry notes of jazz or blues music drift from hidden speakers, providing the perfect soundtrack to the late-night meeting. "Ugh, I'm freezing." She groans once we're all seated at the wooden table, the cold wind more evident in this part of the bar with the windows wide open to air out the filled bar.

"Remember that time we got stuck at that cabin." Darios chuckles and his eyes meet Annalise's as they share a knowing look.

"Oh my God! So basically what happened was I found a discounted weekend hiking trip. We kind of had to hike up to our cabin then go back after. It was so long." She explains to you, rapt up in the story.

Darios let out a knowing laugh. "I still can't believe you agreed to go."

"I know, right? Anyways, we got up to our cabin, and there was like a snowstorm, so we were trapped."

Her face crinckles into a mock frown as Darius chimes in, "Annalise was crying because of how stressed she was."

"It didn't help when you kept talking about how we were gonna eat each other to stay alive," Annalise retorts.

Darios continues the story, "But anyways, it was really bad because we had no signal, so we kinda had to wait for the people who were in charge of the trip to count and realize that we were missing before they came to rescue us. Ever since then, Annalise has sworn to never hike again."

"So if you don't really like hiking why did you go in the first place?" You ask her, intrigued by their story.

"Because it was discounted." she replies seriously, with no trace of sarcasm or satire in her voice, it is probably the fact that she is so serious that makes you crack a smile. The atmosphere is lively, and the warm ambience of the bar seems to make you want to tell them your deepest dark secret.

"That reminds me of the time that me and my best firned waited after school to prank a teacher and it turns out we got locked int he school and I had to beg my mum into letting us out. Sh waas furious and I was grounded but looking back now it was so worth it." You laugh lightly at the fond memory, slightly missing your best friend, she's like your glue.

"Everytime you tells us a story it's always somethig really crazy, how mny lives have you lived?" Darios asks a little intruiged by your persona.

"RIght? I'm wondering what else has happened to you thta we should know about." Annalise asks, resting her head in her hands as she leans forward,

"Well-" You start off only to suddenly get cut off completely by a loud, collective gasp as all the people in the bar move out of one area. A clamour is created as glass shatters and chairs overturn.

"What's going on?" You ask them, stretching your neck further up in hopes of getting a better view.

"A fight." Darios answers trying to observe what is going on. The grim sound of punches being thrown and landing on jaws, faces, and stomachs seem to amplify over the music still being played in the background, which now sounds like an incoherent jumble of words. The two men wiggle off the staff members who attempted to break off their fight, instead the two wrestled each other deeper into the pub, people moving out of the way. Now that they're closer you can see the whole thing up close, it was a swirl of clenched fists, shuffling feet and crashing bottles as they swung each other around.

"This is totally so crazy." Annalise grins, sneaking a couple photos and videos on her phone, " What for memories?" she shrugs as you and Darios look at her dumbfounded. Another loud punch reverbs throughout the bar as the other holds his face in agony, blood spewing out and dripping all over the floor. Soon enough security arrives and guides the bloody and bruised men outside, breaking the fight. The chaos subsides and you blink yourself back into reality after being so immersed in the fight.

Darios's eyes are still glued to the spot the men once were, reliving the moment in his head, "Wasn't expecting this to happen tonight.